Star Wars: Angels of Fortune
by 3rdNightingale
Summary: Thieves. To some they are the scum of the galaxy, while to others, they are adventurers and thrill seekers that do what they want, when they want. this is the story of one such group of rogues that travel the galaxy in search of adventure and profit. May Fortune Favor Us...
1. Chapter 1

**Angels of Fortune**

 **This story came about from the minds of my best friend and I. All the characters were thought up by us and we wrote this together. I hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars and This story was Co written with a friend's help.**

Prologue

 _4 years Before Battle of Yavin_

 _Corellian Engineering Corporation Shipyard Module 55_

 _Corellian system_

 _Corellian sector_

 _Galactic Core_

A tiny blue and green drop in a sea of infinite black, the planet Corellia hovered in space.

Corellia was a beautiful world, rich with plains, forests, mountains, seas, islands, and jungles. Aside from the capital city, Coronet, Corellian settlements were mostly rural villages and farms, living simply, some might say primitively. Despite this, Corellia was indeed one of the industrial powerhouses in the Galaxy, producing thousands of weapons and starships every year. The reason Corellia the planet was so undeveloped was that Corellian production took place not on Corellia, but in the space surrounding it.

The hulking shipyards of the Corellian Engineering Corporation (CEC) loomed over the planet like an umbrella shielding a small child. CEC had long prided itself on producing mostly civilian vessels, leaving military contracts to stiffer, less innovative corporations such as Kuat Drive Yards (KDY) and Sienar Fleet Systems (SFS). That being said, the shipyards of Corellia had attracted much Imperial attention for their impressive production speeds and gift for making transports and corvette-sized capital ships. As a result, the shipyards surrounding Modules 43 through 68 were mostly dedicated to producing CR90 corvettes, DP20 gunships, and occasional battleships for the Imperial Navy. Thanks to local resistance movements and a Corellian tradition of isolationism, the Galactic Empire did not have a firm grip on the Corellia system, and as such, few Imperial vessels patrolled the areas around the shipyards. Instead, the Corellian Security Forces (CorSec) kept the peace through a combination of efficient police work and the use of massive Star Cruisers to protect the shipyards from pirate or terrorist activity.

Module 55 was an impressive space station, nestled in the heart of the shipyard complex. Like most other module stations, it was dedicated to providing living space for spacedock workers, as well as providing lodging, repairs, and entertainment for passing spacers, merchants, and potential CEC clients. These Corellian stations were popular among spacers for their limited Imperial activity and lax customs enforcement. However, this frequently came at a price, for as limited Imperial activity and lax customs enforcement could benefit legitimate aspects of society, it could also draw seedier elements. As such, dozens of stations such as Module 55 had become havens for more smugglers, pirates, and mercenaries than CorSec forces could handle.

Then there were theives…

It started, as most things do, with money.

Specifically, the ragged 50-credit bill that rested on the bar at Entertainment Sector 3, neatly covering the cost of a glass of Corellian brandy.

Raskol Varoos sorted through his drink cabinet, hoping to find a bottle of said brandy. Corellian brandy was extremely popular in this system, so popular that it was actually rather hard to come by. Nevertheless, he kept his cabinet stocked for his clients, as it was all they ever drank. After all, why drink on Corellia unless you wanted strong brandy? Beer was for the weak or those who didn't want to get seriously drunk, and if you wanted fine wine, you went to some wussy bar on Alderaan or some other "cultured" world. This cantina was where Real Men (and Real Women) of all species came to drink.

Presumably, the cloaked and hooded figure standing at the bar had wanted a Corellian brandy. Varoos wasn't completely sure: the figure hadn't said anything, just pulled out the money and slapped it down.

"Ah, here we are!" Varoos exclaimed, pulling out a vintage bottle and pouring out a glass's worth. He pushed the glass towards the figure. Without saying anything, the figure nodded its head in a sort of grateful gesture, took the drink, and strode off into a corner, not even asking for any change.

Grinning slightly and shaking his head, Varoos picked up the bill and slipped it into the cashbox. In his 27 years of tending bar, he had seen a lot of unusual things. He had served drinks to bounty hunters, mercenaries, unemployed bodyguards, slythmongers, Imperial stormtroopers, and one being he swore had been a Dark Jedi. Enigmatic people like the hooded figure came about naturally when you worked in cantinas. That didn't make them any less mysterious…or dangerous.

Preparing a brandy for another customer, a female human in her early 20s, Varoos reflected on the enigmatic figure. Its mysterious nature was bothering him. Was it male or female? Human or alien? Could it be a droid? No, droids didn't drink alcohol as far as he knew. Was it just a thirsty spacer, or some fringe element of society scheming something?

Briefly, Varoos considered the possibility that the figure could be an Imperial agent. He/she/it certainly had an almost militaristic gait and manner of formality. That was unlikely, though: if it was an undercover Imperial Intelligence or Imperial Security Bureau (ISB) agent, he or she would take care not to be noticed, and that cloak would certainly stand out people's minds. It definitely wasn't an open Imperial officer-Varoos had tended bar on an Imperial Star Destroyer 10 years ago, and every officer he had met (with the exception of his fellow Corellians) had been snooty and condescending, never failing to lord their authority over mere civilians.

Varoos shrugged. Whoever the cloaked figure was, it didn't matter. Spacers, criminals, bounty hunters; they all passed through this cantina. All that mattered was that they paid for their drinks.

As Raskol Varoos prepared drinks and collected money, the cloaked figure sat in an alcove, brandy in hand, and took a look around his surroundings.

As far as cantinas went, the dully-named Entertainment Sector 3 was fairly clean and drew a somewhat respectable clientele. That was to be expected: this was the Core, after all. Other than the lack of t'bac smoke, Twi'lek dancing girls, Bith muscicians, and drunken brawlers, it was no different than the dozens of other cantinas he had stepped into. Pleasant jizz music played in the background, gamblers played sabacc, merchants and mercenaries made business exchanges, spacers swapped stories, and everyone else just wanted to enjoy his, her, or its drink.

Behind his hood, the figure took a sip of his brandy. It was good brandy, all right. Definitely aged for at least five years, maybe more. It wasn't the greatest brandy he had ever drunk, but it would suffice.

The figure laid back his head and relaxed. Relaxation was a luxury he did not usually have, but now, he was alone with a glass of strong brandy. What else did one need for happiness?

Feeling the warmth of the brandy, the figure listened to the conversations around him. It was the usual chatter one could expect from cantinas. Two visibly tipsy bounty hunters, a Rodian and a Trandoshan, were bragging about how dangerous their last quarries had been. An armored Blood Carver, most likely an assassin, was having a polite debate about local politics with an Ugnaut. Two off-duty dockworkers, a Draag and a human, were discussing recent trends in Imperial Fleet movements in the Core. And in the distant corner…

"…are in position."

The figure stopped drinking and looked ahead. The present tense was not that common in cantina chatter. The past tense was for stories and the future tense was for jobs. This was most…intriguing.

Three beings were seated around a table in the corner. Three glasses of brandy sat in front of them. Normally, that wouldn't be too unusual. "Two Corellians are a conspiracy, three a fight." That was how that proverb describing Corellian closeness went.

However, as far as the figure could tell, none of the beings were Corellians.

The one who had just spoken was a male human, young and mildly nervous. His accent sounded vaguely like a Core accent, but life in the Middle and Outer Rims had given it a bit of a gruff edge. He wore a black jacket, and an E-11 blaster rifle, standard issue among the Imperial army and the Stormtrooper Corps, hung loosely in his hand. He wasn't planning to use it, but he certainly seemed prepared to if things went wrong. He clearly wasn't a common spacer-few spacers carried military-grade firearms-but he didn't exactly have the aura of a hardened mercenary or pirate.

His companions were even more suspicious. Neither of them were species that the cloaked figure could recognize, and that was saying something. The being directly across from the human was a male near-human, but was not like any near-human the cloaked figure had seen: he had dark blue skin, piercing red eyes, and jet-black hair. The near-human wore a yellow-orange jumpsuit and appeared to be unarmed, but the cloaked figure had spent enough time in the Outer Rim to see a concealed hold-out blaster when it was there.

The other being at the table was concealed by the shadows of the alcove and was invisible to most persons. However, the cloaked figure was…gifted and could easily make him out. The third being was a saurian species unlike anything the cloaked figure had seen. He-the figure assumed it was male-was completely naked, save for two bandoliers filled with pouches, revealing nothing but pure black scales covering the creature's body. The saurian was the size of a Wookiee and appeared to have two tongues protruding from his nostrils on his long and imposing snout. In his clawed hands, he gripped a GLX Firelance, a blaster rifle popular among bounty hunters for it's light weight and powerful stun setting.

The human spoke, addressing the saurian:

"Ixetal, I've instructed Lunchtray to start mugging spacers throughout this space station. Given his speed and violent nature, it will probably be an hour or so before the cops catch up to him. Back him up and bail him out if things get hairy."

"Sure," the saurian chirped in an almost singsong voice. That surprised the cloaked figure a bit. With that imposing size, he expected the saurian to have a somewhat lower voice.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" the near-human asked, his voice calm, collected, and showing no emotion. "Given Lunchtray's erratic behavior, how do we know he won't strangle the spacers and eat their corpses?"

"We don't know that," the human sighed. "Ixetal, I told Lunchtray not to slaughter anyone, but I don't completely trust him. Make sure no one winds up dead. I'd rather have to deal with witnesses instead of homicide charges."

"Leave it to me," the being called Ixetal whistled.

"Right, then," the human turned towards the near-human. "Brainiac, you know what to do, right?"

"Yes," the being called Brainiac stated, matter-of-factly.

"Very well then," the human breathed, anxiety in his voice. He raised his glass of brandy, slightly trembling, his companions doing the same. "May fortune favor us."

"May fortune favor us," his comrades repeated.

They drank their brandy in one quick, collective gulp, put down their glasses as one, and walked briskly out of the cantina, splitting up and heading to different locations.

The cloaked figure finished his brandy, simply put down his glass and walked out of the cantina, carefully following the one they called Brainiac. According to their conversation, Brainiac was going to be alone, making this following easier. Besides, he was barely armed.

Yes, things were indeed about to get interesting…

The cloaked figure wasn't the only one who noticed the threesome in the corner. From behind the bar, Raskol Varoos reached for his comlink.

He had been a bartender for many years, helping to staff cantinas on dozens of worlds. Rodia, Taris, Coruscant, Nar Kreeta, Atzerri, Nar Shaddaa-he'd been everywhere. And it seemed no matter where he went, he always ran into actions of questionable legality being planned in the same room as him.

Those three were clearly planning something illegal. Varoos hadn't heard their conversation, but he knew the signs: the mixture of confidence and anxiety, the hushed voices, the toast and ritual drink before the deed-it was regular as clockwork.

When you ran cantinas, you ran into criminals. It was essentially an unwritten law. Part of that law was that, as a bartender, you did not get involved. You were there to serve drinks, not fight crime. You cooperated with the police if they questioned you and you stood in court as a witness, but you did not take preventive measures unless someone's life or the cantina's future was at stake. That was how things were usually done.

Varoos, however, had met that blue-skinned near-human before. And after their meeting, Varoos had been 5,000 credits poorer.

"This is Raskol Varoos of Entertainment Sector 3," he urgently whispered into the comlink. "Please put me in contact with Corellian Security…"

"I'm hungry!" Krob Meekit bellowed for the third time in 10 minutes.

"I heard you the last two times!" snapped Ziki Paromp. "But we can't leave until the shuttle gets here.

Meekit groaned and whimpered a little. Paromp sighed. He was being a little too hard on him again. He needed to stop doing that. It wasn't culturally acceptable for Duros to be this impatient, especially with a friend.

Krob Meekit was a Guineo, and as far as Paromp had gathered in their last few weeks together, he was pretty typical for his species. Meekit was strong as a Wookiee, and was a nice guy whose heart was usually in the right place, but he had the IQ of something scraped off a shoe, frequently complained, and was incapable of making any decisions more complicated than: "Do I use my vibroblade to cut my meat, or gouge out my eyes?"

Normally a construction project of this gravity wouldn't allow someone like Meekit within three kilometers of the dock. But, he was strong and could lift things, so exceptions were made.

The two mechanics sat in the bay waiting for the shuttle. It had been 11 hours since arriving on the mostly-constructed ship and they were both looking forward to lunch.

They didn't have to wait for very long. A small shuttle-no hyperdrive, no weapons, and only enough room for four people-arrived and docked with the incomplete ship.

"You see?" Paromp pointed out. "We'll be back on Module 55 soon. We just have to talk to our replacement."

They waited for three minutes.

"Where's the replacement?" Meekit blurted out.

"I…dunno, actually," Paromp muttered. He had heard the shuttle door open and footsteps on durasteel. Where was their replacement?

"Down here!" a peppy voice from the floor piped up in clear Basic.

Paromp looked down to see a small Sullustan, maybe only one meter tall, looking up at him.

"Aren't you a little short for a Sullustan?" Paromp asked condescendingly, instantly regretting it. Once again, he really had to learn how to control that tongue of his.

Much to his relief, however, the Sullustan merely let out a good-natured chuckle. "I am. That's why everyone calls me Shorty."

"A pleasure to meet you, Shorty," Paromp gestured to himself and Meekit. "I'm Ziki Paromp, junior engineer, and this is my partner, Krob Meekit."

"Always nice to meet a pair of fellow professionals," Shorty said amicably, clasping his hands together. "What's the situation on this ship?"

"Ah, yes," Paromp quickly recalled his last few hours of labor. "50% of the weapon emplacements are fully armed and operational, the sensors and communication arrays are set in place, the sublight drive have been installed, and unless the Imps are planning to use her in large-scale battles, she's got more than enough shields and armor to function. All she's missing is the hyperdrive. Did you bring that?"

"No," Shorty's lips curled slightly. "I was told that the hyperdrive was here, but needed proper installation."

"That can't be," Paromp scratched his head. "I'm sure we would have come across it…"

"Um, 'hyperdrive?'" Meekit spoke up. "Are you referring to the blue crystal thingy that was hanging in the engine room?"

Paromp blinked in surprise. Meekit noticing something his own trained eyes couldn't? He definitely needed a break.

Detecting Paromp's disappointment, Shorty spoke up, "According to the schematics I was given, it's apparently a new prototype." His eyes widened. "Apparently, it's a Class 0.5, faster than anything the Imps currently use."

If Paromp had been a Human, he would have raised his eyebrows in intrigue. 0.5 was certainly faster than any military-grade vessel on which he had ever worked. The more he worked on this ship, the more exotic it became. Now, with news of this prototype hyperdrive, it made sense that he had gone through three months of background checks before being allowed to work on it. Whatever the Imperial Navy had in mind for this ship, it was special.

"Very well," Paromp collected himself. "I leave the ship in your capable hands, Mr. Shorty."

"Actually, I need some help," Shorty pointed at Meekit. "Specifically, his strength. I've got a heavy crate full of parts that needs transportation to the engine room."

"Got it," Meekit rumbled, grabbing the large green crate the Sullustan gestured towards.

About 10 minutes later, during which Paromp explained some of the engineering behind the ship, Meekit fumbled with the crate, and Shorty nervously swore in Sullustese and kept telling Meekit not to drop the crate, Meekit lowered the crate on the durasteel floor with a thud.

"Thank you, good sirs," Shorty bowed in thanks. "I'll take it from here. I hear the restaurant in Entertainment Sector 7 is to die for. Have a nice break."

"Good-bye, Shorty," Paromp turned to Meekit and gestured towards the shuttle. "Let's get the hell out of here, Krob."

With a mumble of agreement, Meekit lumbered onto the shuttle with Paromp, and two minutes later, the shuttle left the docking bay. Now, Shorty was completely alone on the ship.

The first thing he did was immediately head back to the engine room and open up the crate. He had been honest with the engineers when he told them the crate was heavy.

He hadn't mentioned that that was because there was a person inside.

Releasing the electronic lock on the crate, Shorty removed the lid, allowing a diminutive Gossam to clamber out. As soon as she had adjusted herself on the floor of the engine room, she turned towards Shorty and began swearing at him in her native tongue.

Shorty sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, Dancer. I honestly thought the clearance and flight would only take 50 minutes, not two hours."

Dancer drew herself up to full height (which, considering that she was barely taller than Shorty, wasn't that intimidating), and began pointedly asking him something in Gossam. Dancer spoke no Basic, but she understood it perfectly well. Similarly, Shorty barely understood Gossam, but their last month together had taught him to understand what she generally meant whenever she addressed him. He was planning to teach her Basic one of these days.

"No," Shorty clarified. "We couldn't have you disguised as an engineer. No offense, but your kind usually travel the galaxy as merchants or pirates. People would have gotten suspicious, they would have asked questions, and we'd have to deal with CorSec. Putting you in the box was much easier."

Dancer croaked in annoyance.

"Look," Shorty cried out in exasperation. "This wasn't my idea. If you have a problem with this kind of plan, bring it up with Brainiac!"

Dancer trilled something inaudible, but Shorty was sure he could make out Brainiac's name and the Gossam morphemes for "mother" and "toilet."

Shorty sighed again. He couldn't blame Dancer for being bitter. Not only was she the newest member of the crew, but she also tended to get the least respect because she couldn't speak Basic.

What the rest of the crew didn't know, which Shorty had gleamed from "conversations" with her, was that Dancer couldn't speak Basic because she had never received an education.

Her parents had been servants, toiling on behalf of Commerce Guild bigwigs on Felucia. They had worked hard and tirelessly, making money and saving it in order to pull their whole family out of poverty.

At least, they had, until a Republic assault on the planet during the Clone War had robbed them of their lives.

Shorty shivered upon reflection. He had been only been 11 years old when the Clone War had ended, but the stories he had heard from his parents and the images he saw in the media had plagued many of his nightmares. The war had been an atrocity, plain and simple. For three years, the Galactic Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems (CIS) had both massacred tens of millions of civilians and left dozens of worlds burning. The worst part of the whole travesty, however, had been the ascension of Emperor Palpatine, leading to the formation of the Empire and the doctrine of Human High Culture.

As a non-human, Shorty already fell on the wrong side of sentient life, as far as the Empire was concerned. However, as a female non-human, Dancer was even worse off. Not only did xenophobia and sexism shape most of her everyday life, but also the galaxy at large considered her to be stupid and primitive due to her lack of Basic fluency. In truth, she was actually extremely intelligent and somewhat charming when you got to know her. She had to be-otherwise, she wouldn't have lasted so long as a pickpocket.

Just thinking about the Empire's barbaric treatment of non-humans and females made Shorty's blood boil. However, there was a time and place for everything…

"Alright," Shorty banished his broodings from his thoughts. "Let's check out the bridge of this thing."

Using a small maintenance shaft, Shorty and Dancer climbed to the upper deck of the ship. There was a turbolift, but the ship's main reactor was offline, meaning there was limited power and functions on board.

As they were approaching the bridge, Dancer trilled out a query to Shorty.

"This ship?" Shorty did his best to answer. "According to the schematics I filched, she's a FB10 cruiser, the first of her kind. Goes about 140 meters from bow to stern. Hasn't been named yet, as far as I can tell. The parts use to build her are pretty unique. Each of the four engines carries more sublight power than any civilian transport I've ever seen and the hyperdrive is an experimental model. There's also quite a bit of hangar space in the lower level."

Dancer asked something else, this time accompanying her question with a credible impersonation of turbolaser fire.

Shorty stifled a grin at the impressive sound effects. "Capital ship? Nah, troop transport if you ask me. The upper deck seems to be reserved for military-grade bunks and I saw a speeder bike garage in the lower deck. The hangars look like they're meant to accommodate even the largest troop shuttles. That should make our escape nice and simple," he added, tightly smiling.

Opening the door to the bridge, Shorty strode to the main computer station on the side. The bridge-it was more of a cockpit, really-had four seats, presumably for the pilot, co-pilot, captain, and navigation officer. An engineering station was just outside, located in the alcove of a small corridor. The main computer could be accessed from the pilot's station, but a much more detailed interface was possible on the side monitor next to the navigator's seat.

The main computer was protected by two passwords that, presumably, only the captain and navigator were supposed to know. However, this was not a problem for someone in Shorty's line of work.

Slipping a computer spike out of his pocket, Shorty activated the main computer. Plugging in the computer spike, his hand trembling, Shorty mumbled a short prayer to the gods. If this security system was more secure than he anticipated…

There was no problem. The security mainframe was overloaded with garbage data, giving Shorty complete access to all the ship's technical readouts.

"Good," Shorty murmured. "It appears those engineers were right. This ship is fairly spaceworthy. Looks like the Imps were picking her up in five days. All that needs to be put into place are the hyperdrive and some of the secondary weaponry ammo. Also, we'll need fuel." Shorty typed in several commands into the main interface.

"Pure Sabacc," he said, partially to Dancer, but partially to reassure himself. "We're fueling up as we speak and the corporate shift beacon is down. That means no one will come in to distract us while we work. As far as CEC is concerned, this ship's construction has been temporarily delayed."

In Shorty's experience, corporate security systems were always this pathetically predictable, regardless who utilized them. CEC, KDY, Sienar, Incom, Gallofree, SoroSuub…

Shorty's eye involuntarily twitched in frustration as his broodings returned to his mind. On his homeworld, Sullust, SoroSuub Corporation employed nearly half the entire population. Shorty's parents were SoroSuub employees and he himself had trained at the SoroSuub Business Academy in preparation for a career in engineering. Normally, there would nothing to be ashamed of to be part of such a large and impressive company, but in recent years, SoroSuub had been cozying up to Imperial authorities, acting as an accessory to the institutionalized slavery, genocide, mass pollution, and deprivation of basic rights that Empire committed on a regular basis.

It was for this reason that Shorty had defected from corporate service and joined a pirate gang.

Shorty felt a pang of painful nostalgia. For over two years, he had fixed engines and repaired weapons for the Celestial Marauders as they tore around the Brema sector, stealing the assets of spineless corporate rats, giving half the loot to the poor and downtrodden, liberating slaves transported by the Empire, and disrupting the movements of local Imperial squadrons. It wasn't exactly tearing apart the machinery of the Empire, but it felt right.

Times had been good for the Celestial Marauders, but then the Brema sector group had called for outside help and the full force of the Imperial Navy was brought down on their merry little band. For four months, zealous naval officers had systematically hunted down every Marauder they could, publicly executed their leader, Captain Rhod, and shipped the survivors off to Despayre, where they were never heard from again. Shorty himself had just barely escaped an Imperial ambush, taking refuge at a fringe mercenary hideout at Ord Ibanna. He was now a wanted being in 15 systems, and was certain there was probably a representative from the Bounty Hunter's Guild who was interested in the 10,000-credit bounty on his head.

Of course, since none of the authorities in the galaxy knew his real name, that wasn't really a problem.

Shorty slept well at nights, conscious that he was in the right and unafraid of getting caught. Still, one persistent little thought occasionally dogged him on those long nights in hyperspace:

Could we have done more?

The Celestial Marauders had certainly stung the Empire more than most pirate bands ever could, and had been motivated less by money and more by ideals. Nevertheless, there were others out there who had resisted the Empire's tyranny with more passion these past 15 years. Queen Apailana of Naboo and the Geonosian warlord Gizor Dellso had each put up quite a fight, until they were both brutally suppressed and annihilated by the 501st Stormtrooper Legion. The Wookiees of Kashyyyk and the Mandalorian Militia had never really surrendered and were still engaging the Empire in guerrilla warfare on their home turfs.

Most notable of all were the dozens of bands of rebels-"terrorists," according to the media-that were scattered across the Galaxy. If rumor was to be believed, one of these terrorist factions was under the command of the legendary Jedi General Rahm Kota, who had come out of retirement and was launching a crusade against military targets across the Empire.

On their own, none of these terrorists stood a ghost of a chance against the Empire. But if they were somehow to unite…

Shorty shook his head. That would just lead to more war, more death, and more resentment. The Empire was terrible, yes, but Shorty wasn't sure if the Galaxy could take another round of the Clone Wars.

Shorty smiled. Well, at least he and Dancer would be striking a blow against the Empire today.

"Right then," Shorty turned to face Dancer, slipping on a pair of mechanic's gloves. "Let's see what we can make of this fancy new hyperdrive…"

Deep in the bowels of Module 55, a pursuit was in progress, although the pursued party was unaware of the fact.

The blue-skinned humanoid known as Brainiac calmly walked through the maze of corridors, the cloaked figure from the cantina following him. Oddly enough, despite Brainiac's unique appearance and bright clothing, no one seemed to notice him or give him a second thought. Because he behaved like an ordinary spacer, people seemed to assume that he was an ordinary spacer.

After about 15 minutes of moving deeper into the station, the cloaked figure noticed that Brainiac's gait was changing. Before, he had walked casually, his arms swinging like a man just taking a walk. Now, his pace resembled that of a quick stride, not unlike that of a stern Imperial officer. His arms were behind his back, his hands clenched into fists.

Brainiac stopped in front of what appeared to be a security checkpoint. A corporate security guard, a young male human, stood at a terminal, logging in his shift records. Behind the guard stood an imposing durasteel door with "Security Station 5" painted on in large black letters. The cloaked figure ducked in a nearby shadow, avoiding detection of both the guard and a security camera overhead.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, the guard looked up, spotting Brainiac as he walked up to the door.

"Let's see some authorization," the guard intoned, his authoritative and somewhat bored tone sounding more droid than human.

"You don't need to see my authorization," Brainiac calmly replied, a small grin creeping onto his face.

The guard didn't even blink. "Yes, I do. Corporate policy. Either show me some identification, or I call CorSec."

"Very well," Brainiac huffed, the grin vanishing off his face. He turned to leave, pulled a datapad and a writing stylus off his belt, and began speaking to himself while writing something:

"Note: security on Levels 2 through 8 should be downsized. Guards are unnecessary due to inaccessibility of security rooms." Looking back at the guard, he added, "Guards also seem to be unaware of the identity of the new security foreman and fail to grasp the concept of 'inspection.'"

A look of panic immediately leapt onto the guard's face. He immediately pressed a button on the terminal, causing the security camera above to shut down.

"S-s-s-security foreman?" he gasped. Looking around nervously to see if there were any witnesses, he left his terminal and walked up to Brainiac.

"Please, sir, I'm sorry! I'm new here and they don't tell me everything. Please don't fire me, my wife is pregnant!" He was practically begging.

Brainiac looked up from his datapad and cocked an eyebrow. "I guess I can let it slide. Just this once, though."

"O-o-of course, sir!" the guard responded, relief washing onto his face. "You can go in."

"Very good," Brainiac replied. "For your sake, I recommend you delete the security footage of this encounter."

"Y-yes, sir! This never happened." The guard returned to his post and punched in a security code, opening up the door.

Without another word, Brainiac strode into a small corridor leading to the security station.

Before the guard could close the door, there was a thump, and the guard slumped to the floor, unconscious. When the guard woke up an hour later and was questioned by CorSec, he recalled that he never saw who-or what-hit him.

Leaving the hapless and unconscious guard on the floor, the cloaked figure followed Brainiac into the heart of the security station.

The security room itself was relatively small, consisting of a wall of monitors and several computer terminals. A pair of human guards were seating at the terminals, processing data and occasionally saying things into comlinks, giving updates on minor security breaches.

Brainiac approached one of the guards. The guard stood up and faced him, but before he could say anything, Brainiac stabbed the man in the shoulder with his writing stylus.

The man collapsed, looking woozy. Before his companion could react, Brainiac stabbed her in the back with what the cloaked figured now recognized as a fear stick, an ingenious Sabrashi self-defense weapon disguised as a stylus that delivered a fast-acting, but non-lethal, poison.

Completely alone in the room (as far as he was aware), Brainiac pulled out a comlink and dialed up a number while he scanned the monitors in the room.

"Ixetal, this is Brainiac," he spoke into the comlink. "I've located Lunchtray. He's heading down corridor Gamma-5A. That's where your ships are parked, right?"

"Yes, it is," the saurian's vaguely singsong voice responded over the comlink. "I'll take care of him. Worry about your own assignment."

Without answering, Brainiac pocketed his comlink, pulled out a computer spike, inserted it into a computer jack, and began fiddling with several input terminals.

From the shadows, the cloaked figure watched with interest. From what he could tell from the monitors, it looked like Brainiac was spreading some kind of program to the entire security network. Images of laser and missile defense satellites, common for defense of shipyards, flashed across the screens. Brainiac typed in a few commands and an image of a construction droid, flashing red, appeared on one of the screen with the word target flashing beneath it.

Brainiac pulled out his comlink, activated it, and began speaking:

"This is Brainiac, the security cameras on the station are down and the data is being erased. I've also rigged the automated shipyard security as we planned and our ships should have clearance to leave the station."

The cloaked figure was puzzled by this development. What in the Empire was Braniac doi-

Ah! Of course! The security system in these modules controlled the satellites outside and allowed them to identify threats. If the satellites began considering the construction droids, which were everywhere in the shipyards, including onboard incomplete vessels, as hostile units, the entire shipyard would erupt into an orgy of destruction and chaos.

And while that was going on, it would be easy to do something illegal…

"Interesting," the figure murmured, not realizing how loud his voice was.

It was loud. Brainiac spun around, his glowing red eyes wide with shock, hold-out blaster in hand. "Who's there?" he asked. Spotting the figure, he lowered his gun and fired.

The blaster shot hit the figure in the knee. He stumbled back a bit, caught off guard by near-human's reaction.

Not waiting for the figure's response, Brainiac rushed past him, exiting the security room and shooting the guard station's terminal outside. The durasteel door slammed shut, essentially trapping the figure in the security room.

Approaching the door, the figure sighed. This was going to be one of those days…

Brainiac was already sprinting down the corridor the moment the door shut behind him. However, upon hearing mechanical groaning that sounded like a durasteel door being ripped apart, he somehow found it in himself to run even faster.

Concealing his blaster, Brainiac pulled his comlink and dialed up his comrades.

"This is Brainiac," he urgently breathed into the comlink as he ran. "The mission's been compromised, we have to speed things up."

"Kriff!" a human voice on the other end swore. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Brainiac responded. "I think there's a local bounty hunter on my tail."

"A bounty hunter?" the voice asked. "Brainiac, I thought you weren't wanted in this system."

"Yeah…" Brainiac gritted his teeth. He was hoping this wouldn't come up. "Er, the thing is I-"

"STOP RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!"

The booming voice had come from one of five humans standing in front of Brainiac. All five wore CorSec uniforms and were armed to the teeth with CDEF blaster carbines except for the one in the middle, who carried a CDEF blaster pistol. All five weapons were pointed straight at Brainiac's chest. Brainiac immediately froze, put his comlink on the floor, and slowly raised his hands.

"There a problem, officer?" he asked innocently, his accent resembling something one would find in the Mid or Outer Rim.

The middle human raised what appeared to be a holographic badge coming out of a projector. "Inspector," he corrected, his voice calm, but stern. "And yes, there is a problem. To be exact, your presence on this station, Blue Ponzo."

"Blue Ponzo?" Brainiac's eyes narrowed and his voice took on a loud and angry tone. "Merely because my kind has blue skin, you assume we all look alike and you accuse me of bein' a criminal? That's just typical of chauvinistic Core hum-"

Before Brainiac could finish his rant, the inspector pulled out a wanted poster. The security image of the subject was grainy, but it was easy to make out Brainiac's various facial features.

"Please don't pull this stunt with us," the inspector pointedly stated. "You're on the Empire's Most Wanted list, you're wanted in 36 systems-and you have a death sentence in this one."

That was too much for Brainiac. Giving up the charade of an innocent spacer, his voice revealed his shock. "Death? That's ridiculous, it was only money! No one got hurt!"

The inspector shot him a somewhat icy glare. "Your little stunt here resulted in eight banks and five insurance companies collapsing-not to mention millions of people losing their jobs or homes. Swindling of that magnitude carries a death sentence on Corellia. Half the system wants you to face the hangman, but I don't. I don't condone capital punishment for white-collar crimes, but that doesn't change the fact you are not getting away."

Brainiac sighed. So much for an easy getaway…

"Blue Ponzo," the inspector recited, "You are under arrest for starship theft, smuggling, fraud, forgery, bank robbery, and swindling. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney-"

The inspector was cut off by his comlink beeping. He picked it up and activated it.

"This is Inspector Horn, what's the situation?"

"Hal, we got huge trouble!" a panicked voice on the other end shouted, "We have a major security breach in Hanger Bay Gamma. We have two violent suspects who aren't coming quietly!"

"Calm down," Inspector Horn ordered into the comlink, "Now, explain what's going on."

"Yes, sir," a somewhat calmer voice responded, "The first suspect is a male Clantaani who's allegedly been robbing several spacers across the station. We've identified him as Keith Delehanty, a convicted felon and known gangster who was placed on the Empire's Most Wanted list last year. Delehanty is wanted in 51 systems and has death sentences in seven for crimes ranging from jaywalking to premeditated murder. He's currently armed, and is being assisted by the second suspect, a male saurian of unknown species who is armed and dangerous. We need backup as soon as possible."

"Got it," Horn replied, deactivating his comlink and pocketing it.

"You four," Horn ordered, addressing his heavily armed companions. "Head down to the lower level and back up the squad. I'll bring the swindling suspect in."

The four officers left, leaving Horn and Brainiac alone.

Brainiac didn't show resistance as Horn cuffed his hands behind his back with a pair of binders, but spoke up when Horn put a hand on his shoulder:

"You said I could consult my attorney. Can I consult him now?"

"No," Horn said. "You'll have to wait until we're at the precinct."

"That'll take too long, I need to speak with him n-OBJECTION!"

Upon suddenly shouting, Brainiac grabbed his hold-out blaster, kicked the inspector in the shin, spun around, hands still cuffed, and shot the ceiling lights, bathing the corridor in darkness.

Staggering to his feet, Inspector Horn drew his blaster. This son-of-a-Kath-hound wasn't getting away on his watch…

Something knocked into Horn, causing him to fall down. It felt stronger than Blue Ponzo.

By the time emergency lighting activated in the corridor, it was too late. Blue Ponzo, the binders, the wanted poster, and the con artist's comlink were all gone.

Stifling a curse, Horn pulled his own comlink out and dialed up the captain of the module's security.

"This is Inspector Hal Horn of Corellian Security. Put this station on lockdown, now. We've got several major disturbances and at least two individuals on the Empire's Most Wanted list on this station. We can't let them escape."

"We can't do that, Inspector," the strained voice of the captain replied. "In case you haven't noticed, we've had to scramble our defense fighters to disable the malfunctioning satellites."

"Malfunctioning satellites?" Horn frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Look out the window, if you can."

Sure enough, there was a transparisteel viewport nearby, allowing Horn to look outside.

Outside was anarchy. Dozens of small capital ships undergoing construction had been obliterated by missile defense satellites and the remains of hundreds of floating construction droids hovered in space, freshly blasted by laser satellites. Several bulk cruisers were now coming around and were blasting the satellites, but the shields on the satellites were holding out.

Horn stared at the chaos in horror. "What's going on with the system?

"We're not sure. The whole system just went haywire less than 15 minutes ago. Plus, three of my security guards haven't checked in. I'm telling you, this whole module is going to entropy in a turbolift!"

Horn closed his eyes and reached out with his feelings. It had been a while since he tried this, but hopefully, he could still sense what was coming…

An image of a small corvette leaping into hyperspace came into his mind.

"Captain," Horn said slowly and as calmly as he could. "I've got a bad feeling about this. I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to contact the Imperial Navy…"

Stumbling back, blood pouring from a wound on his head, a Corellian Security officer reached for his sidearm. Before he could aim properly, a well-placed blast of blue light pierced his abdomen and he fell to the ground, stunned.

Ixetal lowered his Firelance and inspected the unconscious man's prone form. "He's alive," he hummed. "His helmet absorbed most of the kinetic trauma. He'd be dead if it weren't for the helmet."

He twirled to face the Clantaani on his left and glared at him. "You idiot!" he hissed. "Mr. Lucky told us not to kill anybody. What part of 'don't kill anybody' don't you understand? The don't, the kill, or the anybody part?"

The Clantaani didn't respond, only breathing heavily, a hint of bloodlust in his eyes and a blood-spattered plastic tray hanging in his hand.

Ixetal didn't know very much about the various species of this galaxy. However, based on what he had heard from secondhand sources, Clantaani were a species that had little respect for any kind of rules and broke the law at any given opportunity.

Keith Delehanty, known in the criminal underworld as "Lunchtray," seemed to do everything in his power to enforce that stereotype at every opportunity.

Ixetal was an exceptional thief. As a result, he had never had to see the inside of a prison, local or Imperial. What he did know was that prisons were places where only the most powerful or savage could hope to thrive for long periods of time. As someone who had survived over a dozen prisons, sometimes beating a few guards or other inmates to death or near-death with his namesake weapon before escaping, Lunchtray's demeanor proved this maxim.

"Let's go!" Ixetal snapped. "Reinforcements will be here shortly!"

"Okay, let's roll!" Lunchtray responded, collecting what little composure he ever had.

The two thieves fled into the nearby hangar. Their starfighters were a pair of CloakShape fighters, outdated ships that were popular among smugglers and pirates for their resilient hulls and adaptability to modification. These fighters had been extensively (and illegally) modified, though one couldn't tell from first glance.

Ixetal and Lunchtray got into their fighters, powered them up, and lifted them into the air. Just then, CorSec reinforcements charged in, blasters blazing. With bolts bouncing harmlessly off the starfighters' armor, the two CloakShapes activated their sublight drives and zoomed into the black expanse of space.

As the grey mass of Module 55 disappeared behind them, Ixetal let out a snort of relief. Looks like Brainiac got the shipyard security defenses down. Let's hope Shorty and Dancer successfully infiltrated the target, or this flight will end really fast.

On the boarding ramp of a Lambda-class T4-a shuttle, the black jacket-clad human spacer lowered his comlink and turned to his two associates, a figure clad in red Mandolorian armor and a sea-green Mon Calamari, both female. "I just got word that Ixetal and Lunchtray are away. That's our cue to go."

"What about Brainiac?" the Mon Cal asked, a hint of horror in her voice. "He hasn't reached the rendezvous point. We're not going to desert him, are we?"

The human sighed. Brainiac was his friend, and it pained him to say it, but…"I'm sorry, but if we wait any longer for him, we'll all get caught. It's making a choice between friendship and freedom-"

"Why choose?" Brainiac's rather dry voice suddenly sprang out from behind the armored woman. "I'm right here."

"Oh, well, that makes things easier," the human's voice lightened up. "In that case, let's rendezvous with the others."

The four figures climbed the boarding ramp onto the shuttle. As the Mon Cal and the armored figure climbed into the cockpit, the human put a hand on Braniac's shoulder and hushed his voice:

"Oh, and Braniac, one more thing: you're gonna tell me why a drooling drebble was interested in you on this station. You're not off the hook yet."

Brainiac sighed. Between the police and his friends, it seemed like everyone was out to get him. Even if he hadn't ripped them off yet.

Space battles always made Shorty anxious, especially ones where he didn't have any kind of control. The havoc outside was no exception.

Installing the hyperdrive and fueling the ship had taken way less time than he had anticipated, meaning that he and Dancer were now in the vessel's cockpit, waiting and, for lack of a better phrase, enjoying the show.

As a half-finished Corellian corvette burst apart, Shorty couldn't help but gulp. Those kinds of ships took up loads of a mechanic's time. At least Brainiac had programmed the turrets to target ships with no life forms to prevent loss of life. Also, it was a good thing that the construction droids were memory wiped so frequently, they had nothing in the way of personality. Otherwise, Shorty would feel sorry for them.

When the ship's sensors picked a Lambda-class shuttle being escorted by a pair of CloakShapes, Shorty practically leaped out of his seat, opening the hangar of the cruiser with the push of a button. Leaving Dancer behind with instructions to close the hangar, he practically ran down to the lower level, taking the newly activated turbolift.

Out of the shuttle and the fighters clambered his comrades. Beaming ear to ear and giving a passable salute to the black-clad human, Shorty could only say, "She's ours."

"Excellent job, Shorty," the human replied. "Everyone, let's get the kriff out of here!"

Less than five minutes later, everyone was in the upper level, Ixetal and the Mon Cal at the controls, Shorty at the engineering station, Brainiac at the navigator's position, and the human leader sitting in the captain's chair.

"She's fully fueled and functional," Shory shouted into the cockpit. "I had Dancer disengage the external locks in a space suit. She's all ready to go."

"Wonderful," the new (and illegitimate) captain of the cruiser responded, turning to his other comrades. "Ixetal, Fishface, steer us out. Brainiac, prep the hyperspace coordinates. Looks like it's time to make our getaway and claim our reward."

Following his orders, Ixetal and the Mon Cal known as Fishface tapped in numerous commands and, ignored by the satellites and starships alike, the cruiser detached from the dock and began jetting to the edge of the system.

The Human leaned back in the captain's chair and relaxed, closing his eyes. It was over. Soon there would be money, alcohol, and women coming his way-

"What in space is that?!" Ixetal's garbled voice immediately ended his fantasies about fine wine and Twi'lek dancing girls and forced him to look outside.

Hovering in front of the corvette was an Imperial-class Star Destroyer.

"KRIFF!" the human sprang up, sweating bullets. "…Brainiac?" He turned slowly to the navigator. "I thought you said the Imperial Navy didn't have any warships positioned in this system."

"They don't," Brainiac stated matter-of-factly. "I think our little prank has alerted some important people."

A knot formed in the human's stomach. "I got a bad feeling about this…"

On the command deck of the Imperial Star Destroyer Omniscience, Senior Captain Morgan Duum gritted her teeth, staring at what had once been the Corellian shipyards. The malfunctioning satellites had almost been completely routed, but it would probably take weeks, if not months, before the shipyards would be in any state to build anything.

Duum had little doubt that terrorists were responsible for this. For that, they would pay dearly. Very dearly.

"Bring us in," she ordered down to the crew pits. "We will help the local authorities deal with this military threat immediately."

"Captain?" the voice of Commander Ryed Tkel, the Omniscience's executive officer, called out as the man approached her. "We've spotted an unidentified ship on our sensors. It looks like a transport or small capital ship of Corellian design and it's leaving the shipyards."

"Is it now?" Duum's eyebrow raised. "That sounds worth of investigation. Open up a hailing frequency and contact that ship. I'll speak to them personally."

"Should we scramble our fighters, Captain? They could easily disable that ship, in case they resist."

After pausing for a bit to think, Duum responded, "Negative. Instead, alert our ion cannon gunners to prepare for emergency engagement and move in for tractor beam range. We don't know what kinds of weapons that ship has and I don't want to risk unnecessary loss of life or military equipment."

"WHAT KIND OF WEAPONS DOES THIS SHIP HAVE!?" the human captain shouted out to Shorty, pure fear in his voice.

"Well," Shorty responded. "We have three dual turbolaser turrets, six quad laser emplacements, a fairly powerful ion cannon paired with a highly efficient tractor beam generator and 10 concussion missile and proton torp-"

Before Shorty could finish his weapons assessments, an icy female voice emanated from the communication speaker: "Unidentified vessel, this is Senior Captain Morgan Duum of the ISD Omniscience. You are suspects in recent terrorist activity. Stand down and prepare to be boarded."

For a second, the human blinked in surprise. Given the sexist positions of Human High Culture, he had never heard of a woman commanding a Star Destroyer. Maybe the Empire was starting to change. That, or she was extremely talented. Or had connections to powerful people.

Either way, he and his crew were royally kriffed.

"Any ideas, Brainiac?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"I have some," the near-human responded. "Unfortunately, they all involve dying nobly \or getting sent to Kessel."

"Fishface?" the Human turned to the Mon Cal pilot. "Can you outrun that thing?"

"I can try," she replied hesitantly. "Ixetal, full power to the shields. Shorty, divert all weapon power to the engines."

"Shorty, you said we have projectile weapons," the human added. "Can we fire them in order to distract the Imps?"

"No," Shorty said bluntly. "As I was about to say, the missile and torpedo launchers haven't been armed. Without the turbolaser and laser cannon power, we're completely defenseless."

"Then let's hope we can outrun them!" the human sat down, his fingers crossed.

The corvette passed the enormous destroyer, but as it was approaching, the destroyer had already begun turning around and was in hot pursuit. Flashes of ion cannon fire began pounding the corvette's engines, causing it to slow down with each barrage. Any minute now, the corvette would be in tractor beam range and at the mercy of the Imperial Navy.

As the seconds passed, the rest of the motley crew assembled into the cockpit, not saying a word. Deep down, they all knew it was over. Death, prison, torture, it didn't matter what the fate, it was always a risk of living the outlaw life…

"Something's comin' in!" Lunchtray yelled out, pointing to a green blip on the ship's sensor screen that was moving closer to the center of the screen.

Fishface scanned the dot. "Looks like a CloakShape fighter coming from out of the shipyard…except it's moving at a faster velocity more than any other CloakShape we've encountered."

On the screen, the green dot that represented the CloakShape touched a larger blue triangle that represented the Star Destroyer. Both blips started flashing.

"I-I can't believe it," Fishface breathed. "That CloakShape…is engaging that Star Destroyer."

The human's posture perked up. Apparently, it wasn't over yet.

"I guess they must be our friend. Let's see if we can put his distraction to good use!"

Senior Captain Duum was speechless as she watched the tiny starfighter fly rings around the Omniscience's command deck, laser cannons firing. "Is that ship actually firing on us?"

"Apparently, Captain," Tkel noted. "Of course, since we're at full shield strength, there's nothing it can do to us."

As if to almost debunk the commander, the CloakShape fired a pair of proton torpedoes directly into the heart of an ion cannon bank.

"Captain," a voice from the crew pits called out. "The targeting relays for 10 of our ion cannons have been temporarily disabled by the spray of unstable protons."

"Blast!" Duum flinched a little. "Alert our turbolaser gunners to target that ship. It should be large and slow enough to adequately target."

The Omniscience's turbolasers began lancing out at the tiny starfighter. A single shot would be adequate to annihilate it completely. The fighter weaved and dodged through the inferno of green blasts with what appeared to be little difficulty. Then without warning, it made a straight attack run for the bridge, firing a pair of proton torpedoes right at the command viewport. The projectiles missed by only a few meters, deflected by the destroyer's shields.

"Slow the Omniscience down so that we can target that fighter more adequately." Duum ordered. "Keep the ion cannons firing at that fleeing corvette. Divert more shield power to the bridge in case this scum tries that stunt again."

Much to her surprise, and pleasure, they indeed tried it again. This time, the torpedoes exploded harmlessly against the shield, not even close to endangering the bridge. Duum thinly smiled. "We have them. Commander, have the gunners project where they will fly based on their previous attack runs."

Sure enough, the CloakShape swerved around, like it had the previous two times. However, just before it flew within turbolaser range, it dived underneath the massive frame of the Star Destroyer, skirting close under its underbelly.

Duum shrugged. "I guess they gave up for now. Let's apprehend these suspected terrorists, then we'll de-"

Before she could finish, one of the consoles from the crew pits began flashing and emitting a wailing noise. Striding over, she stared down and the crewman manning the console. The man was beginning to sweat. "Captain, one of our primary drive engines has been badly damaged by a barrage of proton torpedoes. Our hyperdrive is malfunctioning and we're losing our lateral controls."

Lost for words, Duum stared helplessly out the viewport as the CloakShape sped overhead over towards the fleeing corvette.

In the precious seconds she had wasted in swatting this small craft, the corvette had just reached the edge of the system and was ready to hyperspace out.

It was too late.

"Incredible." Brainiac observed coolly, admiration in his voice. "That fighter just took on an Imperial Star Destroyer and won. That has to be a million-to-one chance right there."

"Try a billion-to-one chance," the armored figure next to him corrected. "That's a CloakShape fighter. In my experience, they usually don't last long against capital ships. I wonder what modifications have been made to that ship."

"We can ask that when they drop in," Fishface spoke up. "The fighter's coming towards us and is transmitting a request to dock."

"Grant it," the human said, tension still in his voice. "Once they're away, make the jump, Brainiac."

As soon as a beep from the main console indicated the new CloakShape was in the hangar and that the hangar was closed, Brainiac pulled a lever on the wall, the stars elongated, and the dark blue void of hyperspace engulfed the corvette.

Everyone in the cockpit let out a collective cheer. Lunchtray began laughing uncontrollably, possibly because he was happy, possibly because he was insane. Brainiac simply slumped against the wall, a huge grin on his normally emotionless face. The armored Mandalorian took off her helmet, wiping a lock of messy raven-black hair out of her eyes. "Kote!"

In the captain's chair, the human let out a deep exhalation. That had definitely been their closest shave yet.

He slowly got up and began walking down the corridor.

"Where ya goin'?" Lunchtray's voice followed him.

The human looked back. "I think it's time we meet our mysterious benefactor."

It was quite a walk from the cockpit to the forward hangar. During this walk with the rest of the crew, the human decided to get something awkward out of the way.

"Alright, Brainiac," he turned to the blue near-human. "Now, I'd like you to tell me why you're wanted in the Corellia system."

"Oh, that," Brainiac swallowed. There was no use in hiding it now. "You see, about nine months before I met you, I pulled off a job on Corellia. I made a lot of money, ripped off a bunch of people, and for that, a price was put on my head."

"You're hiding something," the human observed, annoyance in his voice. "Please tell me the details."

Brainiac closed his eyes and swallowed. "I spent a week going around the planet, telling people that Raxus Prime Engineering was becoming its own company again, asking them for a 5,000-credit investment each and telling them to find other investors to collect from. It was like shooting Mon Cals in a fishbowl; I made a total of five million credits in one week. Normally, that would be the end of that, but…"

"But what?" Fishface pressured. Brainiac's colorful and offensive Deal-slang expression had drawn her attention.

"Well, I started to get a little cocky and thought I'd increase my payoff. I started approaching banks and asked for larger investments. I used the money from those investments to pay back some of my previous investors, who gave more money, and then I had this cycle of swapping money between investors and banks, making more and more profits for a few weeks. Then, I just pulled the plug and left after I made about…" Brainiac's speech became a reluctant murmer.

"How much?" the human asked, quiet dread creeping into his voice.

"Um, maybe about…nine billion c-"

"NINE BILLION?!" the human and Fishface cried out in unison.

"Yeah, that's when I realized I had to leave. That lynch mob on Taris taught me not to stick around when one has too much money. I didn't know at the time, but apparently, the banks had been taking out insurance on their investments. All in all, less than a week after I left Corellia, several of the banks I ripped off went under, the insurance companies folded, and the entire star system went into a recession for about five months until the Imperial Senate bailed them out. Now, half the system wants me dead, as it turns out the penalty on Corellia for causing this kind of economic damage is death." Brainiac voice trailed off, his eyes desperately avoiding those of his comrades.

The human simply stared at him, lost for words. "Ho-"

"Outta curiosity, what did you do with the money?" Lunchtray asked, evidently not sharing the shock or horror of his comrades.

"I hid or disposed of it as quickly as possible. About two billion of it wound up in orphanages or charities, I blew a lot of it at Trugut Station, I spread some it across seven different bank accounts, and the rest I hid in secret stashes."

Ah, yes, the human thought, Brainiac's secret stashes. In his two years with the group, he claimed to have nearly six dozen hidden caches of credits across the galaxy. Because none of his comrades had seen a decicred of this hidden money, they usually believed that, as with anytime Brainiac opened his mouth, he was being less than completely honest.

"Brainiac, let me ask you a question." The human's voice seemed calm now, but was somewhat shaky.

"Yes?"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU MENTION ANY OF THIS WHILE WE WERE PLANNING THE RAID?!" The human gasped for air, recovered his composure, and continued, his voice still somewhat shaky. "We planned this raid for days, relying on your knowledge of the system. You couldn't have mentioned at some point that you're wanted there?"

"Well, the thing is…" If Brainiac were a human, and not so good at hiding his emotions, he would be blushing. "I, well, forgot."

"You forgot?" the human eyed him with disapproval. "How does one as intelligent as you forget where one is wanted?"

"I made a mistake, alright?" Brainiac's voice showed signs of being both defensive and irritated. "We all forget things from time to time. Sometimes, Ixetal forgets to flush the toilet on the shuttle. Sometimes, Fishface forgets that Murderess is allergic to bacta. And sometimes, I forget about the one time I caused a planetary system to fall into a recession for several months. No one's perfect."

The human opened his mouth to rebut, then thought better of it. It didn't really matter now. The job was done and the crew was out of the system. There was no use chastising Brainiac.

Besides, there were more pressing matters on hand. The crew had reached the new CloakShape in the hangar and everyone was visibly tenser. The Mandalorian gripped a blaster pistol in one of many holsters on her waist. Lunchtray raised his plastic tray to cover his face, peeking from behind it. Ixetal and the human slightly raised their rifles.

With a hiss, the cockpit of the fighter opened. On the other side of the fighter, a dark figure landed on the floor with a mechanical thud. In the shadows, the figure walked underneath the starfighter's wing and came into the light.

In front of the crew stood a vaguely familiar cloaked and hooded figure.

Almost instinctively, Brainiac raised his pistol, but before he could fire, the Mandalorian grabbed the gun from hand and stuck it into a utility pouch. "What the hell are you doing, Brainiac?"

"That's the bounty hunter I ran into! He's probably here to capture or kill us all!"

"He also just attacked an Imperial Star Destroyer. You're the expert on Imperial law, isn't that punished by life on Despayre?"

"Well, yes, that's true. But that doesn't change the fact that he was following me. It may be part of a conspiracy!" This, the Mandalorian reflected, was the eternal paradox of Brainiac. Most of the time, he was the most logical and intelligent of the crew, having an encyclopedic knowledge of Imperial law and bureaucratic procedures and speaking a dozen languages. For this reason, he was the unofficial second-in-command and chief strategist of the crew. However, as a professional con artist, he had also developed a great deal of paranoia over the years, which could be useful, but sometimes clouded his rational judgment, making him an interesting, if not annoying, colleague.

Brainiac continued justifying his paranoia. "I mean, why else would this stranger help us?"

"Because I genuinely wanted to help you and I'm interested in joining your group?"

Everyone froze. That last remark had come from the stranger, who, in a single flourish, removed his cloak and hood, scattering them on the floor.

What struck everyone about the newcomer, a male human, was that his face looked, to a certain degree, rather boyish. His facial features and short dark hair seemed to radiate a sense of youthfulness-until one noticed the cybernetic patch covering his right eye. On his face, where one might make out blood vessels under the skin, circuitry was visible. From the neck down, he was clad in heavy black armor, except for his arms, which were clearly mechanical. The man carried no weapons on his person, but was taller than anyone present except for Ixetal, and radiated an aura of strength. Despite his numerous mechanical parts and hulking presence, the stranger also seemed to have a calm and nonthreatening demeanor, as his face showed no sign of fear, aggression, or resentment at Brainiac's remarks.

The Mandalorian blinked in surprise. Only Fishface noticed. "What's the matter, you know this guy?" she whispered.

"No," the Mandalorian whispered back. "It's just that that armor he's wearing is Mandalorian Neo-Crusader armor. I didn't think any suits of those were left in existence."

After a lengthy pause, the human captain finally spoke up. "You're interested in joining us?"

"Yes. From what I can tell, this is a gang that steals from the Empire. I have no love of Imperial scum. Besides, it seems that you could use a man of my talents."

The captain narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't get me wrong, from what I can tell, your plan to steal this ship was ingenious." The stranger's voice became very serious. "However, if the module's security had been any tighter back there, Brainiac here," he pointed at the blue near-human, "wouldn't have been able to infiltrate the network, as his computer spike would have been useless against the system. I can make sure you'll never need another computer spike or have to worry about secure networks."

"So you're a slicer?"

"Not really. I mostly wander around the galaxy, making my living from sabacc, but I know how to create computer programs, including programs of a…useful nature. I can also handle myself in a bar fight, speak hundreds of thousands of languages, make starship modifications, and as you've seen," he gestured to the CloakShape behind him, "I can fly."

"Well, I guess you're qualified to join us." The captain extended his hand. "What's your name?"

The stranger took the hand, clasping it tightly in a sort of informal handshake. Rather than answering, he simply asked, "What's yours?"

The captain grinned. "Congratulations, you passed the test. The truth is, none of us use our real names, as we're all wanted in multiple systems. Instead, we use nicknames that reflect our past, demeanor, or physical characteristics."

The captain put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Let me introduce you to the others."

One by one, the captain introduced the newcomer to the different members of the crew, briefly describing their role in the group. They went through Brainiac, the near-human strategist/navigator, Fishface, the Mon Calamari medic/pilot, Lunchtray, the Clantaani brawler, Shorty, the Sullustan engineer, Ixetal, the saurian technician/bodyguard, and Dancer, the Gossam master thief. Finally, there were only two crewmembers left.

"This," the captain gestured towards the woman in Mandalorian armor, "is our quartermaster, Murderess."

The newcomer smiled and extended his hand, as he had with all the previous crewmembers. "A pleasure to meet you, Murderess. How did you get such a colorful nickname?"

As she shook his hand, Murderess closed her eyes and smiled sweetly. "Do you really want to know?"

Although it was difficult to notice, the newcomer withdrew his hand a little quicker than he had with the previous crewmembers. He turned to his new captain.

"And what do I call you?"

The captain paused dramatically before replying in a serious voice filled with pride: "I'm a man who's traveled the galaxy. Since I was 17, I've waded through the galaxy's cesspools on the fringe, seeking fortune and battling for survival. I've been a thief, a smuggler, a mercenary, a gambler, and a pirate. I've survived encounters with police officers, gangsters, bounty hunters, and stormtroopers. All the while, I've flown by the seat of my pants, relying on luck to see me through. Luck hasn't shown any signs of giving up on me, which is why I'm called Mr. Lucky."

Mr. Lucky gestured broadly to the rest of the assembled crew. "And we are known, by a select few in the underworld, as the Angels of Fortune. Lady Luck brought us all together, much how she produced you from the darkness, for our benefit. As elite soldiers of fortune, we travel the cosmos, seeking out adventure, evading the law, and boldly going where no being has gone before. That is our eternal mission."

The newcomer looked at Mr. Lucky and the Angels of Fortune with a combination of awe and skepticism in his eye. "Really?"

As one, the Angels broke out laughing. Shorty laughed so hard, he fell onto the floor. Mr. Lucky wiped a tear from his eyes, his voice becoming more casual. "Nah, not really. Mostly, we just steal stuff, smuggle stuff, and sometimes shoot stuff because powerful people with money want us to. When we're not doin' that, we're hidin' in dark holes and getting shot at by whichever powerful people with money we're not workin' for that week."

Much to Mr. Lucky's relief, the newcomer let out a massive belly laugh. If he was in any way disappointed or embarrassed by the joke, he certainly didn't show it.

When the Angels calmed down, Mr. Lucky spoke up. "Alright, everyone. We'll be pulling out into the Bogden system in less than two hours. Let's get some rest so that we look good for Zordo."

The motley crew traveled across the hangar floor casually talking to each other in different languages. Mr. Lucky's deadpan joke had, on the whole, put them at ease. The only crewmember that seemed remotely stiff or troubled was Brainiac, but he was usually like that anyway.

As they shuffled onto the turbolift connected to the upper level, the newcomer realized one issue hadn't been resolved yet. "Mr. Lucky, what's my nickname to be?"

Mr. Lucky simply smiled. "I think that's already been decided. As I said, Lady Luck produced you out of the darkness for all our benefit."

As everyone else left the turbolift and began finding bunks to rest on, Mr. Lucky shook the newcomer's hand again.

"Welcome to the Angels of Fortune, Darkness."

 **That's my first chapter. Hope you liked it and please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Star Wars Angels of Fortune**

 **Disclaimer I do not own Star Wars.**

 **Note: this came from a series of ideas that a friend and I thought up during high school and that friend is helping me write this story.**

 **Episode 2. A Base to Call Home**

 _4 B.B.Y._

 _Somewhere in hyperspace_

Figuring that it wouldn't be that long until the journey was over, Shorty didn't feel like resting. Instead, he was pursuing his favorite hobby: looking at foreign ships and figuring out what made them tick.

The FB10 corvette had been interesting enough to capture his attention for a bit. Along with a large insulated pod in the bow (which he was sure was based off of salon pod technology from _Consular_ -class cruisers) that carried a holoprojector, as well as some incredible aspects of the ship's power core, Shorty had also discovered much more cargo space than he had first noticed on board. Overall, he could see how this ship could easily be converted for smuggling runs, pirate activity, or just about anything, if it were placed in the right hands.

Eventually, however, he began to lose interest in the cruiser. As much as a technological marvel it was, it wasn't the ship that piqued his curiosity the most.

Walking into the hangar, Shorty headed to where the three CloakShapes were docked. No, the really interesting ship was the one that belonged to the newly christened Darkness…

…who was working on one of the CloakShapes and who looked up at him. "Hello, Shorty."

Shorty froze. He hadn't noticed Darkness coming into the hangar. He must have used the maintenance tunnel. "I thought you were sleeping upstairs with the others."

Darkness chuckled. "Do I look like a guy who needs a lot of sleep?"

That, he didn't, Shorty had to admit. Then again, thieves usually didn't need a lot of sleep. Shorty himself usually slept for less than six hours a day and Mr. Lucky himself only needed about three hours. People in this profession usually didn't get very far if they frequently were in a state that left them completely defenseless.

"Anyway," Darkness continued, "it's much more interesting to see what modifications you've done to your fighters. The targeting computer and autopilot on this one are amazing!"

"That would be Lunchtray's." Shorty clarified, slowly moving towards Darkness's fighter. "He's not the best pilot and he sometimes gets distracted, so I installed those systems to compensate. If I had some droids, I could improve and replicate them for other fighters. Do you mind if I examine your fighter? Its capabilities in the recent battle piqued my curiosity."

Darkness closed an access panel on Lunchtray's fighter. "Go right ahead."

Shorty immediately began checking out the engines and the power generator of the fighter. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: although the power generator of the fighter was no more efficient than the modified ones on Ixetal and Lunchtray's fighters, the engines had been completely reconfigured into dozens of tiny thrusters, allowing for incredibly tight turns and occasional bursts of speed. This ship wasn't going to outrun any TIE fighters, but it was still a massive improvement over standard CloakShapes, which were usually slow enough to be targeted by turbolasers.

Darkness stood there the whole time, watching Shorty's examinations. "Find anything you like?"

"Yeah." Shorty's voice was full of awe. "Do you mind if I use these modifications for the other fighters when I get the chance?"

Darkness shrugged. "If you're referring to the engines and the power generator, go right ahead. If I'm part of the group, I'd love to start helping by contributing in this way." After thinking a bit, he added, "Just be careful: some of my modifications for the cockpit and targeting systems are rather…unique and may be difficult to replicate."

Before Shorty could ask about those modifications, his chrono beeped. Two hours had sure gone by fast.

Darkness began walking towards the turbolift. "We can discuss starship modifications later. Coming to the bridge?"

Shorty followed him, a pang of melancholy in his heart. This cruiser was such a lovely ship. A shame she was about to be sold.

On the bridge of the unnamed cruiser, Mr. Lucky sat in the captain's chair, a combination of relief and excitement washing over him.

The relief came from knowledge that soon, this cruiser would be off his hands and he and his crew would be two million credits richer. The excitement came from the possibility that this exchange would lead to a stable and profitable business partnership.

The client who had approached the crew for this operation was Zordo the Hutt, a gangster who dealt in space piracy and gunrunning from a chop shop in the Bogden system. What made Zordo different from the thousands of other pirates and arms dealers in the galaxy was that he was an influential member of the Nal Raka Criminal Empire, a crime syndicate known to be more benevolent and forgiving of occasional errors than other organizations on the fringe. If Zordo and his superiors were impressed by this daring theft of an Imperial starship right out of one of the most famous shipyards in the galaxy, it would mean all sorts of lucrative contracts, from smuggling luxury goods to providing ships for pirate raids. All the while, there would be job security and an employer that was easy to please, the dream of anyone in the Angels' position.

Sure, there would be dangerous assignments, especially now that Nal Raka knew that they could pull off a theft like this, but Fortune had continued to favor them…

"Mr. Lucky?" Lunchtray called out from the pilot's seat. "Pullin' into the Bogden system."

"Very good, Lunchtray." Mr. Lucky diverted his attention back towards reality. Fishface was still sleeping, so Lunchtray had volunteered to pilot the cruiser for the rest of the trip, albeit under Ixetal's careful watch. Given that the Clantaani had nearly pulled the ship out of hyperspace prematurely and had to be reminded constantly that the ion cannon was not a toy, Mr. Lucky was beginning to question the wisdom of agreeing to this proposition.

The blue masses of hyperspace faded away as the ship reverted into realspace. The comfortably familiar shape of the Bogden system, filled with planetoids and moons, loomed ahead. A large debris field, filled with asteroids, dumped trash, and wreckage, lingered at the lower portion of the system.

Mr. Lucky continued playing the role of captain. "Alright Lunchtray, take us to the asteroid with the largest energy reading in that debris field. That's Zordo's chop shop."

Murderess, who was standing to the left of the captain's chair, spoke up urgently. "We should make this a quick deal. The Empire may have tracked us here and sent ships to investigate."

Mr. Lucky chuckled a little. "Relax, Murderess. Zordo's been running this operation for over six years without any Imperial interference. Besides, even if his command center was discovered, he's got a small navy for protection, not to mention the support of every mercenary and pirate in the system. So don't worry, we've got nothing to worry abo-"

"Yes we do! The Empire beat us here!" Brainiac's panicked voice exclaimed.

On the edge of the debris field was a lone _Victory II_ -class Star Destroyer.

Much to everyone's surprise, Mr. Lucky just laughed. "It's probably just a patrol ship sweeping the sector. Ships of that class usually travel with an escort when raiding pirate bases. There's nothing to worry about. Now, Lunchtray, that reddish asteroid is Zordo's hid-"

Before he could finish, there was a flash of green light and the asteroid in question split into a dozen pieces. The Star Destroyer had demolished it with its turbolasers.

Mr. Lucky eyes widened and he stifled an involuntary curse. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this…

"Ixetal," he finally uttered through clenched teeth, "if you can, try to intercept that ship's transmission. It looks like it's about to hyperspace out, but the way it's positioned indicates that it's trying to contact someone. Lunchtray, keep us hidden in the debris field."

Ixetal and Lunchtray gave vocalizations of affirmation and set about their tasks. As they worked, Darkness and Shorty walked onto the bridge. "What's the situation, Captain?" Darkness asked, giving what appeared to be a military salute.

"It's just 'Mr. Lucky,'" Mr. Lucky laughed casually, his anxiety temporarily washing away. "There's been, ah, a small hitch in the plan. You see,-"

"We're just meeting up with our old friends in the Imperial Navy." Murderess finished drily.

Darkness raised his only eyebrow. "They're your friends?"

"We run into them so often, they might as well be."

With a whistle, Ixetal interrupted the conversation. "Mr. Lucky, we're intercepting their transmission. Playing now:

" _This is Senior Captain Skult of the VSD_ Prosecutrix _. We have just apprehended the arms dealer and suspected gangster Zordo the Hutt. As anticipated, Zordo was protected by a small force of pirates, but they were easily routed and surrendered or fled. My escort craft are pursuing them now. None of the local mercenaries in this system interfered with our raid. We are transferring Zordo to Imperial Center for trial, as per your orders, Lord de Verro."_

Nobody said a word. Instead, everyone slowly turned to face Mr. Lucky.

Mr. Lucky was not particularly gifted with languages, only being fluent in Basic and Huttese. However, one talent he secretly prided himself on was the ability to shout "kriffing bastards!" or some equivalent phrase in Bocce, Sullustese, Durese, Pak Pak, Sy Bisti, Mon Calamarian, and nearly a hundred other languages. Standing up, and at the top of his lungs, he demonstrated this feat to the rest of the crew for nearly three minutes.

While Mr. Lucky was swearing and ranting, Darkness bent over and whispered to Shorty, "Is he usually this…excitable?"

"No," Shorty whispered back. "He's just not used to having this many setbacks to occur over the course of five hours. Also, he left his personal fighter and a few other ships we had on that asteroid."

"Kriffing Imperial bastards!" Mr. Lucky finished, having run out of languages to swear in. "How the kriff are we supposed to collect payment without a client?! We put in days of planning, spent thousands of credits, and-and-and-" He was now running out of coherent words, gesturing obscenely with his hands and glaring out the viewport at the _Victory II_ -class Destroyer. "I wish we could just ram that Star Destroyer right now!"

"Got it, yer the bossman!" Lunchtray exclaimed, putting his hand on the controls.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US KILLED?!" yelled Darkness, striding forward and grabbing the Clantaani by the back of the head. With an expert-like twist of the hand, he forced Lunchtray to tense up, effectively subduing him.

At that moment, Fishface walked in, rubbing her eyes. "What's with all the shouting and swearing? Dancer and I are trying to sleep."

"It's nothing," Shorty weakly replied. "Just that Zordo's going to jail, our ships that we left at his base have been confiscated or destroyed, and that we're not getting our two million credits."

"Oh, that's pretty bad." Fishface murmured, becoming much less groggy.

"Mr. Lucky," Brainiac spoke up. "Might I recommend that we think things through logically? Things could be a lot worse."

"OK." Mr. Lucky seemed to calm down. "First things first, we need to dispose of this ship. If the authorities catch us with her, we're as good as dead." He thought for a little while. "Why don't we try selling her to Borvo the Hutt? He's Zordo's superior and the leader of Nal Raka. We'll get plenty of prestige servicing him, even more so than if this ship went to Zordo."

"That's a nice thought," Fishface observed. "Unfortunately, how exactly are we going to contact him? We know that he's based in the Naboo system, but because we've never been invited to any of his outposts, it'll almost be impossible to get in contact with him."

"Then," Ixetal added from the co-pilot seat, "you have to consider that with Zordo, his most important contact in the Inner Rim, behind bars, he's going to be veeeeeeery wary of uninvited guests, especially ones piloting a stolen Imperial corvette."

"That," Murderess concluded, "is the biggest problem we face. Zordo ran a small operation, but he was a major behind-the-scenes player in the underworld. A lot of people are now going to be wary of people selling a suspiciously powerful ship conveniently 'stolen' from an Imperial shipyard. As she is now, she's too powerful for smuggling and too recognizable for piracy. That's why no one from Nal Raka, any other affiliates of the Hutt Cartel, Black Sun, RavinsBlud, the Lok Revenants, or even the BloodScars will be interested in this ship."

Mr. Lucky didn't say anything, just gloomily staring out of the viewport as the _Prosecutrix_ vanished into hyperspace.

"Well," Brianiac finally spoke up, "I guess our only real option is to strip this ship as much as possible, then dump her somewhere. Normally, I'd suggest Raxus Prime, Ord Ibanna, or Ord Mantell, but since we're here in the Bogden system, we might as well dump her on Kohlma, one of Bogden's largest moons. It's dark, remote, full of dangerous swamps, and if I remember correctly, there's a graveyard of dumped ships dating back to the New Sith Wars."

"Well, I guess that's our only real option." Mr. Lucky sighed. "Alright everyone, take a look at what can be salvaged, and in two hours we'll take this sh-"

"Do we really have to dump her?"

That last question came from Darkness. Everyone turned to face him.

"What do you mean?" Brainiac asked, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think there's anyone who can use this ship that we can get in contact with?"

"Yeah," Darkness snorted, his voice bordering on a laugh. "Us."

Quickly turning to Mr. Lucky, he elaborated. "Cap-, I mean, Mr. Lucky, we currently are in possession of a powerful cruiser, have no obligation to give her to anyone, and with Zordo's arrest, we're in need of a hideout to recollect and regroup. Therefore," he added with a grin, "I propose that we keep this ship, modify her, and use her as a mobile base of operations."

No one said anything for a while. Then, Mr. Lucky finally seemed to reach a conclusion. "That," he admitted, "sounds like a somewhat solid plan. If no one has any objections, the-"

"I object!" Brainiac urgently called out. "This ship is extremely recognizable, has an Imperial transponder signal, and has weapons that are illegal in nearly every sector. We'll be caught in-"

"Hold it," Darkness calmly, but loudly, interrupted. "Having an Imperial transponder signal could be very useful in slipping through blockades and the like. However, if you're really concerned, I can modify the transponder to make the ship seem like a heavily modified _Consular_ -class cruiser. As for the illegal weapons, I can easily fabricate a datapad of certification to cover our weapons. I'm sure that with the right amount of modifications, we can make this ship indistinguishable from what she was when we stole her."

"That sounds perfect," Mr. Lucky chimed in. "But there's a few other things I'd like to address. We're currently low on funds and it would be nice if we had some more starfighters."

"I can take care of the money," Brainiac quickly replied. "Just give me an hour with the shuttle. One of my secret stashes is on Kohlma. As for the ships, I have been thinking about possible ways to hit up the Kuat Shipyards for CloakShapes recently. By the time I get back, I should have it all together."

"Right," Mr. Lucky addressed the crew as Brainiac headed down to the hangar. "In the meantime, we should begin personalizing this cruiser. Everyone figure out where your quarters are going to and begin making any desired modifications."

"Excuse me," Ixetal piped up, "but does anyone have any idea how we'll operate this ship on a regular basis? From what I can tell, she was meant to be crewed by more than nine sentients."

"I can fix that," Darkness eagerly added. "I can probably program a computer core to handle most of the ship's functions. I'll just need a power source of some sort."

"I…think we have that covered," Shorty put in. "The power generator on this ship is the most powerful reactor I've ever seen, Impstars excluded."

"Right then," Mr. Lucky clasped his hands together. "You two get to work on making a computer core and fixing the transponder. Fishface, dock at one of the mercenary stations orbiting Bogden. We'll wait for Brainiac there."

"Roger that," Fishface gently pulled Lunchtray away from the control terminal and took a seat. "Before we get underway, I was wondering; are we going to give a name to this ship?"

"Um," Mr. Lucky thought for a little. "Nothing's coming to mind. If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to bring them up."

He sat down in the captain's chair. This had been a most unusual turn of events. Then again, so was just about everything with the Angels of Fortune.

The ISD _Omniscience_ sat in the Corellian Shipyards, secured to a space dock and undergoing repairs.

On the command deck, Senior Captain Morgan Duum stood, her eyes closed and arms crossed, strongly resisting the urge to swear loudly.

She had just spent nearly two hours making inquiries and filing reports for Naval Command. By tomorrow, everyone in the Admiralty would know about the hilarious hijinks of Morgan Duum, a woman so stupid, she had been outsmarted by a gang of common criminals in a CloakShape and a barely completed cruiser. At the very least, she was probably going to be relieved of her Star Destroyer.

Admiral Wormwood was going to be most disappointed…

"Captain Dumb?"

The mispronunciation of her name drew her instant attention to a young lieutenant coming her way, a datapad in his hands.

Turning around as formally as she could and glaring at him with her best look of authority, she stopped him in his tracks. "Say that again," she stated calmly, yet firmly.

"Captain Dumb-"

"Stop right there, Lieutenant," she ordered. "Read my name again. Duum. D-U-U-M. You may not have paid attention in school, but two Us together makes a 'yoo' sound. My name is pronounced 'DYOOM.' Understood?"

"Yes, Captain. Now, here is-"

"I'm not finished." She stared at his messy uniform and his cocky young face. She had met this lieutenant before. His name was Cosmo Jackson; he was one of the engineers on the lower deck and was a typical Corellian. Not that she had anything against Corellians; she just felt that their trademark bravado had no place on the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

"I know that you and your friends in the bowels of the ship probably joke about my name and have some laughs at my expense," she stated as if it were an empirical fact. "Believe me, I've heard them all. While there's nothing I can do about what you do in your down time or while you work far from this bridge, I will not tolerate this immaturity in my presence. The next time anyone mispronounces my name while on this bridge, they'll be mopping up gizka droppings on the detention level. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain. I understand completely."

Based on the devilish glint of mischief in his eyes and the smirk on his face, she had difficulty believing him. However, she was getting angrier and was in no mood to continue lecturing him. "Now. Report."

"Yes, Captain." He handed her his datapad. "This is a report on the _Omniscience_ 's repair status. Our weapons, shields, and targeting systems are fully repaired and at full capacity. Unfortunately, one of our primary drive engines will need replacement and the hyperdrive will require at least two days' worth of repairs. We should be fully spaceworthy in less than three standard days, if all goes according to plan."

"Very good." She took the datapad and started reading it. From a basic glance, it appeared that everything that Jackson had said was true. "Dismissed."

He walked away, not even saluting. She simply turned around, ignoring him and reading the rest of the report. She'd make him pay for his insolence, but later.

She hadn't been kidding when she had told Jackson that she had heard them all. When she had been a junior officer on escort frigates, she had heard just about every possible bad pun concerning her mispronounced name multiple times. Morgan Dummy, Morgan Dum-Dum, Morgan Dumbass, Morgan Dumb-blonde (given that her hair was, and had always been, black, that last one had been a source of more amusement than frustration)…

She wasn't the first in her family to hear them all, either. Her father, Ganu Duum, had endured a fair amount of teasing back in the day, despite being a respected officer in the Republic Judicial Forces who served with distinction in the Republic Navy during the Clone Wars. It had never really bothered him, so she usually did her best to ignore it in her day-to-day life.

Her father had been a great man, one whom many police officers and soldiers had looked up to. She herself looked up to him, often listening with awe to his tales of crime fighting and keeping the peace as a child on his knee. During the Clone Wars, she and her mother had kept in constant contact with him from their homeworld of Bestine IV, receiving battle news and updates straight from the front lines.

After a series of particularly deadly battles in the Lockmar sector, he had been awarded half a dozen medals, including the Cross of Glory, the highest award offered in the days of the Republic. Thinking of his family first, Ganu had sent his medals home to his wife and daughter. When Duum read the accounts of the heroism her father had been credited with, which included being the first soldier to infiltrate a Confederate base and saving the life of a Jedi General, that was when she decided she would seek her future in a military career, acting as an agent of justice and peace, allowing citizens of the Republic to live free from tyranny and free from fear.

As luck would have it, the day the Clone War officially ended, the day Palpatine declared a New Order, the very first Empire Day, was Morgan Duum's 18th birthday. When Imperial recruiters set up shop on Bestine, she had been the first person, and only woman, to sign up that year.

Her father had always told her that in military academies, like the rest of the military, there was a great deal of rivalry and borderline hostility, and that it wasn't all camaraderie and loyalty. It had taken about two hours at the Imperial Naval Academy on Prefsbelt IV for her to realize he had been vastly understating things. Not only was there plenty of cutthroat competitiveness between everyone, there was a special degree of contempt reserved for female cadets. Her father had warned her that, despite this modern day and age, there would always be chauvinistic scum in the structure of military organizations. In the day of the Republic, this kind of sexism had been most frowned upon and sexist officers rarely held command for long. Unfortunately, thanks to the idiocy of Human High Culture, this sexism was now the mainstream in the Imperial Navy.

After graduating, and finishing what essentially amounted to a three-year-long marathon of sexual harassment and discrimination, she had spent several years as a junior security officer, frequently being passed up for promotion on account of her gender. As her career stagnated, men she had attended the Academy with, some of whom were complete idiots, received higher posts, frequently due to luck or connections.

This had gone on for several years. Then, things started to change five years ago…

"Captain Duum?"

That new voice was Ryed Tkel, the _Omniscience_ 's executive officer, and Duum's second-in-command. She turned to greet him, lowering the datapad. "Yes, Commander?"

He saluted and held up a new datapad. "Here's a collection of dossiers regarding Blue Ponzo and Keith Delehanty from Imperial Center. I also included a dossier of the Sullustan suspect retrieved from the records of the Bounty Hunter's Guild."

"Very good, Commander. You are dismissed." Morgan took the report, turned around, and began reading it.

She paused after reading for half a minute and turned back around. She hadn't heard the sound of fading footsteps behind her. "You're still here, Commander?"

Commander Tkel cleared his throat. "Captain, let me assure you that, in my honest opinion, you did nothing wrong during the recent en-"

There are many ways for people to succumb to rage. Most people shout and lose their capacity for logical thought. When Morgan Duum became angry, as she did right then, she did the exact opposite: Her voice became a hushed hiss and she remained logical as ever:

"No, Commander, I just kriffed up very badly. I'm not sure if you were paying attention, but this ship, an _Imperial_ -class Star Destroyer, one of the most powerful warships in the galaxy, just engaged an outdated Clone Wars-era starfighter and a stolen transport flown by purse snatchers, _and kriffing lost_."

"It's not your fault, Captain," Tkel exclaimed defensively. "That starfighter had modified black market-grade engines and weapons we didn't know about. It wasn't a fair fight."

"If you want a fair fight," Morgan replied icily, "start a quadrant club. Don't expect it when your job is to hunt down smugglers."

Neither officer said anything for two minutes. Then, Morgan sighed and turned away. "Keep me posted of any developments, Commander."

"Roger that."

As Commander Tkel saluted and walked away, Senior Captain Duum stared into the expanses of space. That outburst had been uncalled for. A Star Destroyer captain was supposed to be firm and in control at all times. She would have apologized to him, but that wasn't exactly proper officer behavior, either.

Ryed Tkel was a good man. There was no debating this simple fact. Unfortunately, that was all he was or would ever be. Genuinely nice men did not get very far in the Imperial military.

The whole institution was massiff-eat-massiff, with officers constantly advancing their positions through bribery, trickery, blackmail, extortion, and, if some rumors were true, murder. It was particularly difficult for female officers, as you had to work past the fact that a man's word was automatically worth more than yours. Some women got around this through seducing their superiors, sleeping their way up the chain of command.

In order to be transferred to more prestigious ships, and to occasionally gain promotions in rank, Duum had done things she wasn't proud of. However, she could proudly say that she had never, ever, resorted to _that_.

About five years ago, she was a senior security officer in the detention level of the VSD _Prosecutrix_ , a _Victory II_ -class Star Destroyer frequently deployed to hunt down outlaws. She was still only a lieutenant, but her post was actually somewhat prestigious. The _Prosecutrix_ frequently held some of the most dangerous felons in the galaxy prior to trial, meaning that only highly experienced officers and soldiers were allowed anywhere near the detention levels.

That was a good thing, as there was very nearly a full-scale riot and mutiny five years ago.

One of the two reasons the riot failed was that there was a battalion of stormtroopers outside the detention level, effectively containing any prisoners that made it past the security perimeter.

The other reason was that, thanks to the quick thinking and superb leadership of Lieutenant Morgan Duum, none of the prisoners even came close to making it past the perimeter.

Under normal circumstances, this display of heroism would have been almost completely ignored, simply appearing in the fine print of Duum's record. However, at the first sign of trouble in the brig, the _Prosecutrix_ had sent an emergency transmission to a nearby flotilla. By the time the flotilla arrived, the riot had been calmed and any escaped prisoners were locked up or dead.

The commander of the flotilla had ordered an investigation, which led to Morgan's name coming up and her transfer to the flotilla's flagship, the ISD _Bralamor_.

It was there where she met the flotilla's commander, someone who would help her turn things around: Admiral Douglas Wormwood.

He had only been a vice admiral then, but it was apparent that he would make full admiral in a matter of time. In the five years that she had known the man, Morgan was mildly annoyed by the fact that there was a lot she didn't know about him. Wormwood was a green-skinned near-human from somewhere in Wild Space. According to rumor, he was a respected military officer on his homeworld who had been granted access to the Imperial Admiralty as part of a cultural exchange. He was undoubtedly a genius, but thanks to the restrictions of Human High Culture, it had taken 12 years for him to go from commodore to full admiral.

When Duum was transferred to the _Bralamor_ 's bridge, she discovered that this discrimination had resulted in a positive side-effect. The ISD _Bralamor_ was crewed by the finest in the Empire, all of whom were treated well, regardless of species or sex. For over three years, Duum had worked alongside aliens, women, and even cyborgs, all of whom Wormwood had taken under his wing and granted protection from Human High Culture.

He had a reputation for clear-mindedness and approachability that made him greatly respected among his crew, as he frequently was known to listen to ideas that were not his own. Anyone lucky enough to be assigned to the bridge of the _Bralamor_ , as Duum had been, was in for a special treat: personal mentorship from Wormwood himself. Every few days or so, he would approach you, ask you broad philosophical questions, share some stories from his past, leaving you wiser by the time he walked away. He took care to minimize potentially unproductive competition by treating all of his protégés equally, regardless of age or rank.

Make no mistake, Wormwood was not always a kind man. When angered, he could be very viscous and no one wanted to be on the receiving end of his rage. However, where most officers in the Empire would execute subordinates for minor mistakes, Wormwood preferred to shout at those who failed for about 15 minutes before temporarily confining them in the brig. Those who made major mistakes spent a solid hour with Wormwood in his quarters. Whatever Wormwood did to failed officers during that hour, they were motivated enough to _never_ fail again.

Fortunately, Duum had taken care to never fail Wormwood-until now, that is.

Under his light guidance and with his protection, she had quickly ascended through the ranks of the Navy, eventually becoming the nominal captain of the _Bralamor_. Although she had theoretical command of the _Bralamor_ , there was never any doubt that the _Bralamor_ was Wormwood's ship, now and forevermore. She was still an executive officer, not a commanding one.

At least, she had been, until the Battle of Anoat last year.

Duum closed her eyes and smiled. Now that had been a military triumph the whole Empire could be proud of, especially the fighting crew of the ISD _Bralamor_. The notorious crimelord Nerm Rhod had been properly brought to justice and his gang of pirates, the Celestial Marauders, were decimated and scattered.

Three officers stood out for their incredible performances during the battle. The first was Vice Admiral Douglas Wormwood, who finally received a long-overdue promotion to full admiral. The second was Captain Morgan Duum. The third was Lieutenant Commander-

Morgan furrowed her brow. What was that officer's name again? He, like Admiral Wormwood, was a near-human from beyond the Outer Rim, but was definitely a different species. Had an unusual name, too…

Anyway, that lieutenant commander had been promoted to commander and given a special post by Imperial High Command. Meanwhile, she had been promoted to senior captain and given command of her own Star Destroyer, the ISD _Omniscience_.

The last time Senior Captain Duum had seen Admiral Wormwood, it was on the bridge of this Star Destroyer. He had approached her, slightly smiling, saluted, and simply said, "Congratulations, Senior Captain. Now, go forth and spread justice, in the galaxy and in the Navy."

Duum had done exactly that in the last few months, hunting down smugglers, pirates, and terrorists, particularly in the Corellian sector, a hotbed of corruption and discontent.

And now, here she was, standing on the bridge of her disabled Star Destroyer, having just been thwarted by a small band of kriffing thugs.

"Captain Duum?"

The sound of Commander Tkel's voice from nearby ended her stroll down Memory Lane and brought her back into the present. "Yes, Commander?"

Commander Tkel straightened up and cleared his throat. "The ISD _Devastator_ has just pulled out of hyperspace into the system and is requesting that you come aboard."

Duum stifled a gulp. The last time she checked, the _Devastator_ was one of the vessels in Admiral Wormwood's armada. Apparently, news of this blunder had already reached his ears.

"Very well," she calmly replied. "Prepare one of the _Lambda_ -class shuttles in the main hangar. Commander, you are in charge of the _Omniscience_ until I get back. While I'm gone, I'd like you to look into disciplining Lieutenant Cosmo Jackson for insubordination. Other than that, just make sure no one attacks us."

"That won't be necessary, Captain. No rational person would attack a fully armed Star Destroyer while another fully armed Star Destroyer is approaching it."

Despite herself, Duum smiled slightly. "You'd be surprised, Commander. The galaxy is full of irrational people."

On board their recently-adopted cruiser, the Angels of Fortune did not have to wait long for Brainiac's return. He had a footlocker full of credits, as anticipated.

What was not anticipated was the fact that it was over 700,000 credits.

Mr. Lucky could barely say a word. Instead, he simply stood with his mouth agape. "How-"

"I told you I had secret stashes across the galaxy. Do you believe me now?"

"…Alright." Mr. Lucky straightened up and turned to Shorty, who had just entered the _Lambda_ -class shuttle and joined the other two thieves. "How's the engineering going?"

Shorty shook his head. "That new guy is incredible. He and Dancer have already created an autopilot function more effective than anything I've put together. He also thinks that he can install a conveyer belt for holding starfighters, similar to the speeder bike rack. He'll need more money and resources, though."

"We have that." Brainiac gestured to the chest of credits. "What we don't have is starfighters to install on the rack. Which brings me to my plan. For it to work, I'll need a few days to forge some documents. Also, I need to contact a certain person for outside help."

"I'll help you with that." said Mr. Lucky, "Shorty, stick with Darkness and Dancer and see what you can do. Let's just make sure we act discreetly. Imperial officials can be rather…nasty at times."

As she arrived on the _Devastator_ , Senior Captain Duum couldn't help but feel a small chill. The atmosphere on the ship was much more grim than she was used to on any of Wormwood's vessels. The two young naval troopers she had brought along as a bodyguard escort looked completely out of place among the hordes of imposing stormtroopers found everywhere on the ship. As she and her bodyguards walked down the corridors of the capital ship towards the turbolifts to the bridge, the bad feeling she already had got exponentially worse.

When she reached the turbolift, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Return to the shuttle," she instructed her guards. "I will face Admiral Wormwood alone."

They obediently saluted, then turned around and walked away. She heard their footsteps fading, and then got on the turbolift. A minute later, she was on the bridge, walking towards the main command viewport, where-

She stopped dead in her tracks. Admiral Wormwood wasn't the man stand at the far side of the bridge, his back to her. It was a tall, black figure that seemed to radiate power with every ominous breath. A figure that haunted the nightmares of every Imperial officer.

It was the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military.

Darth Vader.

"Senior Captain Duum?"

Duum shivered. This day had just gotten worse. Much worse. "Y-yes, Lord Vader?"

"You seem surprised, Senior Captian. Surprised and afraid."

Was her fear really that evident? Duum straightened up and tried to calm herself. _It's no different than talking to any other superior officer_. "I…was expecting Admiral Wormwood."

Vader turned around. Between his skull-like mask, his billowing cape, and his bone-chilling heavy breathing, the man in the black armor was even more terrifying in person than she could possibly imagine. "Admiral Wormwood is currently on an expedition in Wild Space, hunting down and eliminating newly discovered Separatist holdouts. He will not be returning to the Core for several months."

Vader took two steps towards Duum. "Since we both know why I'm here, Captain, let us proceed with business. Report."

Duum cleared her throat. "My report, Lord Vader? I have already submitted the results of several inquiries to Naval Command, including eyewitness depositions, police reports, and security footage. I have little information myself to give…"

"I have already read the reports, Captain, and am familiar with the details of the recent heist. I wish to hear your personal account of events."

"Very…well, Lord Vader." Duum proceeded to explain to him how she had been patrolling the Corellian sector for possible terrorist activity, when she had received a distress signal from the Corellian Security Force that two known fugitives were loose in the local shipyards. All the while, her mind was swirling in confusion. By all accounts, her lifeless body should have been spread out across the _Devastator_ 's deck. _Why is Vader so interested in hearing my account_?

Duum continued her story, describing how she had encountered, intercepted, and pursued the fleeing cruiser, only to be distracted and disabled by a CloakShape. After both vessels fled into hyperspace in her story, Vader held up his hand. "Describe the CloakShape in detail."

She tried her best to describe the acrobatic maneuvers of the CloakShape, how it had always been a step ahead of the _Omniscience_ 's targeting systems, and how it had more armaments than any starfighter she had ever seen. All the while, Vader simply listened, his head slightly inclined.

When she was finally done, neither of them spoke for a while. Vader seemed to mutter, to no one in general, "It is as I believed." He sounded thoughtful and analytical, but not at all angry. Duum wasn't sure what to make of this.

Finally, Vader seemed to come to a conclusion. He turned back to her. "Senior Captain Duum, on behalf of Imperial High Command, I am giving you a special assignment."

Duum tried really hard not to show her surprise. "A special assignment, Lord Vader?"

Vader nodded his head. "Yes. You have two primary objectives and one secondary objective. Your first primary objective is to retrieve that stolen cruiser. It is a prototype FB10 corvette, directly commissioned by the Emperor himself for confidential reasons. It is imperative that that ship does not fall into terrorist hands."

Duum tensed up. "Understood, Lord Vader. I'll die before that ship reaches the wrong hands. What are my other objectives?"

"Your other objectives are closely tied together. Your remaining primary objective is to find and capture the pilot of that CloakShape, dead or alive. Your secondary objective is to capture his accomplices, dead or alive." Vader's voice became deeper and more serious. "The pilot of that CloakShape is a dangerous fugitive who is believed to have terrorist sympathies. He must not be allowed to escape Imperial justice."

"To assist you, I will providing you with several tools. The first tool is a company of the Five Hundred and First Stormtrooper Legion, which is being transferred to your Star Destroyer as we speak. They are extremely loyal and will execute any order you give them. The second tool is a complete dossier on the CloakShape's pilot, which you will find in your shuttle as you leave. Share it only with your executive officer and those you absolutely need to inform. The third and final tool is this." Vader held out a code cylinder. "This cylinder has been specially created for purposes such as this. It will grant you authorization over all forms of civilian authority, as well as a great deal of power within the Imperial Military. This is a key that will unlock many doors. Use it wisely."

Duum gingerly took the cylinder. "Understood, Lord Vader. Is there anything else regarding this mission I should remember?"

Vader held up a finger in warning. "You have one standard year to complete this assignment. If you succeed in both your primary objectives, you may find yourself promoted. If not, the penalties will be most…severe."

Duum did not doubt that one bit.

Vader turned away to look out of the _Devastator_ 's main viewport. "You are dismissed, Captain."

Slowly, Duum turned around and left the bridge. When she reached the turbolift back down to the shuttle hangar, she pulled out her comlink and contacted Commander Tkel.

"Commander, double our efforts to repair the _Omniscience_. Also, has there been any success in tracking the movements of the fugitives?"

"We're not sure, Captain, but our scan reports indicate that their last known trajectory was the Bogden sector."

Duum's brow furrowed. _The Bogden sector? That's a well-policed sector in the Inner Rim. Why would a gang of thieves flee there?_

Then she remembered. _Ah, yes! The Bogden system!_ Compared to the rest of the sector, the Bogden system was a lawless hive of scum and villainy, a perfect place for a group of criminals to duck away from the eyes of the law.

"Commander, when we are done repairing the Omniscience, we're heading to the Bogden system. I'll explain why when I come aboard. I'll also explain why there is now a new company of Stormtroopers in our garrison and why you should give them a wide berth."

"Let's just say that things have just gotten serious."

Fishface could barely keep herself from cracking up. "THAT'S the plan? That's what you've been planning for the last week?"

Brainiac shrugged. "Do you have a better idea? I'd like to point out that this ploy has worked in the past…"

"We tried that ploy exactly one week ago to steal this cruiser, _and it almost got us killed_."

"Yeah, but that's because we were stealing a heavily guarded cruiser in the heart of one of the largest shipyards in the galaxy. Here, we're stealing nine common starfighters on the outskirts of…"

"Of an even larger shipyard _. One regularly patrolled by Star Destroyers._ "

"Enough, you two!" Mr. Lucky rolled his eyes and shook his head. As long as Brainiac and Fishface had been working together, they had been constantly locked in an infantile rivalry, each of them constantly trying to prove that he or she was smarter than the other. This conflict was rather amusing for the rest of the crew when it took the form of strategy or card games, but it became much less cute during planning sessions, when the team's freedom or life was on the line. "This bickering is pointless. Given that we don't have very many options, we'll give Brainiac's plan a fair shake."

As Fishface grumbled to herself, the rest of the crew assembled into the insulated pod. Seeing that the pod was equipped with a large conference table with a built in holoprojecter, Mr. Lucky had decided that that would be where meetings would take place. He had been discussing the plan with Brainiac and Fishface, hoping to refine it before presenting it to the crew.

Well, now that the crew was assembled, it was time to get down to business. "Brainiac, the floor is yours."

Brainiac stood cleared his throat. "As _certain_ members of this crew have pointed out," he briefly glared at Fishface, "this heist is somewhat similar to our previous operation over Corellia, albeit much more subtle. En route to Kuat, we will be passing through the Brentaal system. There, we will be picking up a modified old _Wayfarer_ -class transport ready for the scrap heap from an old client, a crime lord by the name of Slarl Kahn."

"With that transport in our hangar, we will then head to the Kuat system, where there is a nebula on the outskirts of the system. Leaving our corvette there, we will stow aboard the _Wayfarer_ and fly into one of KDY's outlying facilities for 'repairs.' Officially, only Shorty and Dancer will be the crew of the transport. The rest of us will be snuck in using smuggling compartments."

"Once we disembark, I will infiltrate the main security terminal of the facility and ensure that the raid goes smoothly and that no evidence will be left. In the meantime, Ixetal and Lunchtray will cause a disturbance on the station, tying up security reinforcements. When security has been disabled or incapacitated, we will make our way to the starfighter holding area and make off with one CloakShape each. We will then fly out to our corvette and make our getaway. The _Wayfarer_ we will come in on has been equipped with weak explosives, meaning we can detonate it from a distance to cover our tracks without causing too much attention or harming anyone. Any questions?"

After a short silence, Murderess raised her hand. "Do you seriously think this will work? After our little stunt over Corellia, I'm sure most shipyards in the Core are going to have beefed-up security measures."

"That's why we're going to be as silent as possible. I've chosen a small facility that used to be a modification shop for Kuat Systems Engineering. Currently, the facility only sells CloakShapes and after-market kits, so security should be minimal. Besides, I plan to toy with the security system, erasing any hint of our presence."

Shorty raised his hand. "Do you have enough computer spikes to do that?"

Brainiac hesitated. "Well, I think should be able to man-"

"I can help."

Everyone looked at Darkness as he stood up. "I can disable the security system with a phantom program more efficient than any number of spikes. Just get me to the main security terminal, and I can take it from there."

"That sounds great!" Mr. Lucky gestured towards Brainiac. "Brainiac, take Darkness with you when you infiltrate the facility."

Brainiac opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. "Yes, Mr. Lucky."

"Right, then." Mr. Lucky stood up. "I think it's time to set course for Brentaal. I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me. Fishface and Ixetal, the bridge is yours. Darkness, get working on that phantom program. Murderess, make sure our emergency weapons are in good shape. Shorty and Dancer, I think it would be best if you keep working on the conveyor belt project. My friends, may Fortune favor us."

"May Fortune favor us!"

Less than an hour later, the corvette was shooting through hyperspace. Thanks to the effective new autopilot, there was little work to be done. The whole ship was quiet, except for one area.

In the vessel's hangar, on board the inactive shuttle, the armored woman known only to her comrades as Murderess stood over a workbench, sparks emanating from her gloves as she tinkered with a DL-44 heavy blaster pistol. She had already installed a built-in power battery, meaning that the pistol could be directly charged from a generator, as well as using most conventional energy cells. Now, she was hoping to amplify the gun's power by adding a Mark III beam splitter.

Most of the modifications that Murderess had made to her armor were not for combat purposes, but it was still a deadly suit. Each of her fingers on her gloves was equipped with a plasma torch for precise weapon modification that could, if necessary, be used to cut through gratings and doors. Her helmet had several different settings, including thermal scanning, x-ray scanning, and sonar detection, but she usually used its various levels of magnification for repair purposes. True, her armor was equipped with sonic emitters, whipcord throwers, and combat-grade blades, all of which were designed for battle. However, she preferred to engage her foes with the any number of blaster pistols and grenades she kept on her bandolier.

This DL-44 had been one of her more useful pistols for a while, but there was always room for improvement…

"Need help with that?"

In mere microseconds, Murderess spun around, pistol in her hand and pointed straight at the direction of the voice.

Darkness was leaning against the shuttle wall, his metallic arms crossed.

Murderess lowered her gun. "Oh, it's you. Don't startle me while I'm working. Don't you have a program to program?"

Darkness laughed. "Finished it before I even proposed it. I'm fast."

"Good for you." Murderess turned back to her work. She could hear Darkness's metallic footsteps getting closer and closer. By now, she had begun to suspect that his legs, like his arms, were mechanical.

" _Copaani gaan?"_

Murderess froze and turned. It had been many, many months since she last heard anyone speak _Mando'a_. "No, I can handle this myself. You speak the language?"

Darkness grinned. "And I wear the armor. Isn't that required for our people?"

Underneath her helmet, Murderess frowned. She jabbed a finger at him. "Listen, just because we're both Mandalorians doesn't make us siblings, got it? You have earned neither my trust nor my respect. Spend a few weeks with the crew, and maybe you will."

She turned her back to him and resumed her work. After about a minute of simply standing there, Darkness spoke up again, this time in Basic.

"You're from Ordo. You haven't spoken Mandalorian in a while and you're trying to hide your accent, but it's noticeable."

Murderess didn't turn around this time, even though her pulse was racing. "Why the interrogation? You don't see me prying into your personal history."

Darkness seemed to be taken aback. "This isn't an interrogation! I just happened to notice your accent. It's been a while since I've met someone from Ordo."

"Have you ever been there?"

For the first time that Murderess could notice, Darkness's face became rather dark, as did his tone. "Once or twice. A while ago."

This piqued Murderess's curiosity, but after the grief she had just given about prying into her past, she decided not to press further. "Understood. If you don't mind, I'd like to resume my work."

"Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have any spare weapons I could borrow for the upcoming mission?"

"If the plan goes accordingly, a weapon will be unnecessary. Besides," Murderess added, glancing at Darkness's metallic arms, "I get the feeling there's more to you than meets the eye."

Darkness shrugged. "There is, but I've always found that just having a pistol on hand tends to make things easier."

"Alright, let me check." Murderess cycled through several blaster pistols lying on the workbench before picking up a small grey gun. She handed it to Darkness.

"This here's a WESTAR-34 blaster pistol, low quality, stolen from the Raxus Prime black market. Popular with soldiers of fortune and drooling drebbles with fangs. It's weak, has a short range, and only has enough ammo for 20 shots, but is fairly accurate and has a decent rate of fire. Prove that you can handle this piece, and I'll consider giving you something better."

Darkness took the gun and lightly bowed. " _Vor entye_. I'll take the best possible care of it."

As he left the shuttle, Murderess sighed to herself and rolled her eyes. This guy was going to be hard to work with…

As an outlaw who was constantly in crisis mode, Mr. Lucky rarely got to experiences the simple pleasures in life. While he was awake, that is.

Dreams, however, were a completely different story, serving as a stabilizing counter to the endless stream of insanity that was his life. Whether it was playing with his favorite childhood toy or spending precious minutes with a Zeltron carafel, Mr. Lucky's dreams were always filled with wondrous and joyful experiences.

Which made him all the more irritated when he was rudely waken up in the middle of his nap just then. The fact that it was Brainiac who woke him did not make things better.

"Brainiac, what the kriff? I haven't slept properly in days!"

"Rest assured, this is important, sir."

"It better be," Mr. Lucky grumbled as he staggered to his feet.

Brainiac waited patiently until his friend was completely awake before elaborating: "It's this Darkness character. I really don't trust him."

"What? Why not? He's already saved everyone on this ship from Imps! Isn't that enough?"

"That's _exactly_ why I'm suspicious of him. Isn't it a little convenient that someone just comes in to save the day when we need it? And that that same person has a useful set of skills that we all happen to lack?"

"Brainiac, I'm not sure if you've forgotten, but that's more or less _how everyone else_ joined the Angels. Fishface came out of the blue when we needed someone with medical skills. Before Ixetal arrived, none of us knew how to install a military-grade shield. Even your arrival, with all your skills and talents, seemed pretty lucky for us."

"OK, that's true…but given that Darkness was actively following us, I feel this is a slightly different situation. We can't afford to take any chances!"

"Brainiac, you're being too paranoid. Worse comes to work, you've got allies. Keep an eye on Darkness during our upcoming heist. If you see any legit evidence of Darkness double dealing, let me know."

Mr. Lucky walked out and headed for the bridge. "This conversation is over."

Brainiac grumbled to himself as he stormed down the corridor towards the hangar. Why did people treat paranoia as a bad thing? Sure, he was very paranoid, but he'd be dead if he wasn't. Crime was a dangerous life, and you couldn't trust most people. Especially cyborgs clad in armor who had more skills than Cad Bane and Gallandro put together. Why didn't anyone else see that? Maybe Ixetal would understand…

"Brainiac?"

Brainiac spun around. Murderess was walking towards him, helmet under her arm.

Brainiac relaxed a little. Murderess was one of the few people he trusted. "Ah, Murderess. I was hoping to run into you."

"Of course you were. What's the problem?"

Brainiac paused for a bit. _Maybe I need to change my approach_. "What do you think of that rookie, Darkness?"

Murderess snorted. " _Ori'buyce, kih'kvoid_. All helmet, no head, as my people would say," she translated. "He's vain, cocky, and has the potential to be very dangerous."

"You think he's potentially dangerous? So you agree that it's a terrible idea to have him on this ship?"

Murderess narrowed her eyes. "I don't think he's an enemy, if that's what you mean. I mean he's a hotheaded young man who's trying to impress the universe. If he gets us all arrested or killed, it'll be an accident."

Brainiac's heart sank. _So much for her support._

"Why are you being so paranoid, Brainiac? Sure, the circumstances surrounding Darkness's arrival are fishy, but that's how it was for everyone, especially you."

 _Great, now she sounds like Mr. Lucky…_

"Wait a minute!" Brainiac cried out defensively, "What do you mean by that? My circumstances weren't suspicious!"

Murderess laughed. "Have you already forgotten about how we met, Brainiac? It was only two years ago."

Brainiac scratched and shook his head. For some reason, he couldn't remember what she meant. Part of him felt that he didn't want to know.

Murderess continued anyway. "As I said, it was two years ago. I think it was somewhere around the moons of Triton. Mr. Lucky and I were posing as tourists when we were approached by a charismatic merchant. A charismatic merchant with red eyes who walked off with our wallets."

Brainiac did his best to conceal his discomfort. _Oh, that's right. They were marks._

"Anyway, this 'merchant' thought he could get away with taking our money while he talked to us, but didn't count on a pair of foolish tourists having an E-11 and military training. We tracked him down to heart of the station, held him at gunpoint, got our money back, as well as everyone's he had ripped off, and then…"

"Mr. Lucky said to me, 'You're an untrustworthy, evil-minded, sneaky son of a bantha…I think I like you. Wanna team up?'"

"Ah, now you remember! Good."

"I…guess." Brainiac scratched his head again. "There are still a few fuzzy details, though…"

"Oh, that's no mystery," Murderess cheerfully assured, patting him on the shoulder. "When you said yes, I gave you a nice, strong Keldabe kiss that knocked you out for a day or so. You probably got a concussion and mild amnesia from that…or you just repressed that memory out of trauma."

Although Brainiac didn't show it, a shiver ran down his spine. Only Mr. Lucky knew how Murderess had earned her particular moniker. Given her talent for acting cheerful or nonchalant when talking about horrific violence, it wasn't hard to guess its origin.

"Anyway, Brainiac, the point is, you signed up after you tried to rob us. If there's anyone on this ship who's extremely suspicious, it's you. You've got a right to be cautious about the new guy, but don't go overboard. Otherwise, we might see _you_ as suspicious…or at least a hypocrite."

Brainiac looked away sheepishly. "I…guess you have a point. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good! Oh wait, one more thing." Murderess yanked a small pistol off of her bandolier and handed it to Brainiac. "Here's your hold-out blaster. I increased the size of the energy cell, so you can now fire nine shots instead of five. Next time, I'll try to add a stun setting."

Brainiac took the gun and grinned. "What would we do without you, Murderess?"

Murderess smiled grimly. "Hard time on Kessel, that's what."

Less than 20 hours later, everything was in position. The starship pick-up had gone without a hitch and the corvette was now lingering on the edge of the Kuat system.

Mr. Lucky and most of the crew sat in the smuggling compartments, which were cramped, hot, and smelled vaguely of gundark urine. Nobody wanted to guess where that last trait came from.

Because being unseen was part of the plan, everyone wore what he or she had been wearing earlier, with the exception of Dancer, Shorty, Brainiac, and Darkness, all of whom wore disguises. Dancer and Shorty, who were both piloting the transport, were wearing green jumpsuits purchased over the moons of Bogden. Brainiac was wearing a subdued blue uniform and a pair of spectacles. Darkness wore a loose, full-body garment of unknown origin that covered his mechanical arms.

The flight from the corvette to the shipyard station was about 20 minutes. No one said a word during that flight. In fact, no one even looked at one another. Overhead, they could hear Shorty negotiating with the traffic controller:

"This is Security Checkpoint Gamma of the Kuat Shipyards. Unidentified transport, state your intentions or you will be fired upon."

"This is the cargo ship _Phoenix Wing_ ," Shorty replied. "We were transporting a shipment of Durelium ore when we were attacked by pirates that stole our cargo and badly damaged our ship. Requesting permission to dock for repairs."

After a few tense seconds, the traffic controller responded. "Everyrhing checks out fine. You are clear to dock at port 39. Have a nice day."

When the ship finally landed, there were a tense few minutes as Shorty and Dancer disembarked. When the ship was completely silent, and the coast was clear, only then did Mr. Lucky pop open the smuggling compartments and everyone clamber out.

They were in.

As everyone split up and headed their respective directions, Brainiac kept a close eye on Darkness. _We probably look ridiculous. The giant and the businessman. Hopefully, we're not too suspicious-looking._

Given that most of the people in this small spaceport were bounty hunters, stranded pilots, and rather adventurous spacers, no one gave the duo a second thought. When they reached the main security room, Brainiac breathed a sigh of relief…

…but couldn't show it, as a pair of Imperial Navy officers, both ensigns, were standing outside, making Brainiac stifle a curse. This was a little more than he anticipated.

One of the officers noticed him. "Halt, this is a restricted area. We'll need some identification.

Brainiac was sure that playing around wouldn't work this time, so he decided to cut straight to the point. Holding out a professional-looking (and forged) identification card, he adapted his most professional-sounding voice and manner. "We're an inspection team from Kuat. We're making sure the security on these backwater stations are running at full capacity."

Much to his horror, the officer smirked and, without warning, drew his pistol, a nasty-looking Relby-K23 blaster. "Okay, blue. You just made two mistakes. First of all, since when does Kuat hire aliens as inspectors? Second, we had an inspection yesterday. Two inspections in a row is pushing it. Now, put your hands in the air and tell me why you're really here, scum."

Brainiac gulped and raised his hands. He could easily reach his hold-out blaster, but there were two guards and shooting would draw attention…

"Wait."

That had come from Darkness, who stepped between the officer and Brainiac. The other guard put his hand on his sidearm.

Undaunted, Darkness addressed the first guard. "Alright, Ensign. You've got a good head on those shoulders. We aren't from Kuat; we're from Imperial Center."

The guard laughed. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that load of bantha turds, scum?"

Darkness pulled out an Imperial code cylinder. "Authorization code: 100259665-beta557. Does that mean anything to you?"

Both guards became extremely pale and lowered their weapons. The first guard was near speechless. "How the…?"

"Take it up with the Emperor if you've got a problem." Darkness towered over the ensign. "We were only supposed to use this code in an emergency. Do you want to be responsible for causing an 'emergency?'"

"N-no, sir!" The guard took a step back. "You can proceed."

"Very good." Darkness lumbered past the guards, then turned around. "You two should return to your quarters until you receive further orders from you superior officer. Don't mention this."

"YES, SIR!"

As the guards quickly scattered, Brainiac followed Darkness into the narrow hallway leading to the office. "Now that," he concluded, "is possibly the gutsiest con I've ever seen pulled. How were you able to fake such a realistic-sounding Imperial code?"

"What do you mean 'fake'? That was a real code, albeit a little outdated. You would think it would have changed by now, but that's bureaucracy for ya."

Brainiac narrowed his eyes and filed this information away in his head. "I see," he muttered.

"Right, then." Darkness cracked his knuckles (or at least whatever he had for knuckles). "Ready?"

Brainiac pulled out his fear stick. "Ready."

"Are you ready?"

Ixetal took one last look around before responding. He and Lunchtray were at the main cafeteria of the station. They had decided to hold their distraction here for three reasons. The first reason was that, as a public place filled with mostly unarmed people, the cafeteria was a great place to attract attention. The second reason was that there were only two easily accessible entrances and exits, meaning that it would be easy to keep track of any security reinforcements coming in.

The third, and dumbest, reason was that there were many shiny metal lunch trays lying around, and Lunchtray was now holding two of them in place of his preferred plastic one.

"Alright," Ixetal barely whistled. "Let's do this. Remember, no killing. We don't need a death mark in this system."

After quickly nodding, Lunchtray turned around and bashed a pair of off-duty mechanics, screaming maniacally. Ixetal gave a reptilian hiss and punched a security guard in the face.

The melee went surprisingly well, as most of the cafeteria's patrons were either too gorged to fight back or were not expecting having to fight a sociopath and a giant lizard. At least, that's how it went with the initial waves.

When Ixetal heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the distance, he knew that the reinforcements were going to be more armed. Grabbing his Firelance off his belt, he peppered the incoming crowd with stun shots. When the dust cleared and he got a good look at their unconscious forms, his blood froze-and not just because he was cold-blooded. _That's not good_.

One of the prior security guards, who had been disoriented by a metal tray to the face, barely managed to reach his comlink. "This is security team Gamma-337, we need backup! Send all available units!

"Roger that, sending all available personnel."

Brainiac put down the main security comlink. Given that all three guards in the main office were on the floor, slowly recovering from the venom of a fear stick, they weren't in any position to object to this unauthorized use of equipment.

He turned to Darkness, who was working with the main security computer. "How much longer?"

"Just a few more minutes," Darkness replied, some mild irritability in his voice. "I can do this, but it does take some time to rewire the main CPU without deactivating any systems and installing a Micro Trans-adaptive Phantom Virus can be quite tricky, depending on the computer system."

Brainiac barely understood any of that and assumed that Darkness had made up a few things. "Translation?"

"In two to five minutes, I will have accomplished everything we wanted and more."

Five minutes later, Darkness pulled out a small drive he had inserted into the mainframe. "…And we're done. Not only are all the security systems down and the security teams heading to the other side of the station, but I took the liberty of "acquiring" half a million credits. They won't even notice that it's missing."

"Alright then, let's go."

The pair left the office and headed for the main starfighter assembly area. The rest of the Angels, including Ixetal and Lunchtray had gathered there. Also present were dozens of freshly fueled and armed CloakShapes, all docked and ready to fly.

"We should hurry," Ixetal hissed, "there was a squad of Imperial stormtroopers that nearly captured us. This shipyard is more protected than any of us imagined."

Much to everyone's surprise, Darkness smiled cheerfully. "That's great! It'll make it easier to cover our tracks. Trust me on this."

"If you say so. I've detonated the transport, so these fighters are our way outta here." Mr. Lucky directed everyone to the nearest few CloakShapes. Mere seconds later, nine CloakShapes blasted off from the shipyard station, completely unchallenged by the inactive security.

One by one, the starfighters landed in the waiting FB10 corvette. Once the fighters were safe, the Angels assembled in the cockpit to the best of their ability. Everyone took their previous positions. "Where to, Mr. Lucky?" Brainiac asked.

"Set course for the Raxus system. We'll hide out there for a little bit."

The blue mass of hyperspace enveloped the corvette, and the heist was over.

To most denizens of the galaxy, Raxus Prime, long the junkyard of the Outer Rim, had a well-deserved reputation as the most toxic planet in the galaxy and an all-around hellhole.

To those in a certain line of work, however, it was paradise.

Ever since its establishment sometime during the New Sith Wars, Raxus Prime Engineering had maintained several factories on the planet surface and a small set of shipyards around the system, practicing the most intense known form of recycling. Even when the company was bought out by Sienar Technologies, who officially dismantled the operations, the facilities remained staffed by labor droids, supplied by salvagers, and protected by mercenaries. The result was a semi-legitimate business that officially provided profits for Sienar, but frequently saw profits skimmed by crimelords such as Drexl Roosh.

Much like the business model, the products sold over Raxus Prime were of a semi-legal nature. Rather than catering to the civilian or military markets, the remnants of Raxus Prime Engineering did what they always did: sell vehicles, weapons, and droids directly on the black market. Most of the products found in the Raxus Prime black market were directed towards bounty hunters, smugglers, pirates, and other galactic denizens with credits to burn and desire for the exotic. Best of all for this clientele, the Empire almost never came by the system, allowing for a surprising amount of privacy.

Naturally, this was an excellent place for a small band of thieves to pull up in their shiny (stolen) corvette and commission modifications for their newly acquired (stolen) starfighters.

"Shorty, what's the situation?"

Shorty looked up from his fighter at Darkness. "Looks like everything's in order. Thanks to that money you got from Kuat, I bought a pair of droids to start installing systems. In a day or two, we'll have the fighters modified to our specifications."

"And what about the cruiser?" That came from Mr. Lucky, who had entered the maintenance dock with Brainiac and Murderess at his side.

"I've already had a few professionals take a look. The various modifications we've decided on should take about two or three days. The money we brought certainly guaranteed speedy service."

"Well, then," Mr. Lucky looked around. "I guess we should make ourselves comfortable…and busy, too."

Murderess put on her helmet. "I'll go see if I can buy some more personal weaponry. I've got a few powerful makeshift grenades I can sell." She left.

Brainiac shot a quick glance at Darkness. "There's…something I need to look into here." He left.

"Right then," said Mr. Lucky, "in that case, I'll…"

"Excuse me, sir?"

All three turned. Approaching from the far side of the maintenance bay was an Ugnaut flanked by an ASP droid carrying a massive green crate.

The Ugnaut spoke. "Where do you want this?"

Mr. Lucky stepped forward. "Put it in the corvette in Hangar 57."

As the Ugnaut and the droid walked away, Shorty looked up and scratched his head. "Weapons?"

"Something along those lines. That crate put me back over 5,000 credits, but it was totally worth it."

"'Along those lines'? Translation?"

Mr. Lucky cryptically smiled. "You'll see…"

The Bogden system was usually a system with a lot of starship traffic. However, even to the casual observer, watching an _Imperial_ -class Star Destroyer, two _Vindicator_ -class cruisers, and a CC-2200 interdiction ship pulling out of hyperspace seemed almost magical in how suspicious it was.

Ryed Tkel stood at attention. "Orders, Senior Captain?"

Duum scanned what she could see of the system out of the viewport. "Have the flotilla blockade the system. Activate the gravity well projector at the far end of the system and deploy all standard fighters. Have them fan out across the system and monitor all traffic; no ships leave the system. If anyone tries to leave, intercept and search them."

"Yes, Captain." Tkel saluted, turned, and left for the communications console.

Duum stared out the viewport and pondered the difficulty of assembling this makeshift flotilla. Realizing that she would most likely need reinforcements, she had sent a request to several nearby systems, hoping to borrow a few cruisers and an interdiction ship for good measure. At first, it had been difficult, given her rank of Senior Captain and her sex of female, but that's where Vader's code cylinder had come in. It was incredible, what this tiny little cylinder could do…

Anyway, it had taken a week to finish repairs on the _Omniscience_ and prepare the other ships, but they were finally here. Hopefully, there was at least a trace of the outlaws she was looking still somewhere in the system.

"Captain?" That came from Commander Tkel. He had sure been fast.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

Tkel scratched his head in a most informal matter. "What exactly are we doing here, Captain? At this rate, wouldn't the thieves have already sold the ship somewhere and moved on? How do we know that they didn't only stop in this system to throw us off?"

Duum sighed. "We don't. However, this is the only lead we currently have, so that's why we're here. It is instrumental that we find the ship and the CloakShape pilot as soon as possible, but for now, we don't have much to work with. This system is filled with all manners of scoundrels and informants; perhaps one of them knows something."

"Out of curiosity, why is the CloakShape pilot so important to find? Is he particularly dangerous?"

Duum turned and began briskly walking off the bridge. "Walk with me, Commander. I've got some files to show you."

"When we're done, then you'll see why this is so important."

The reaction to the now-open crate that Mr. Lucky had purchased among the Angels was an odd mixture of amusement, confusion, and in the case of Shorty, frustration.

"Let me get this straight; you spent roughly 6,000 credits of our precious money on _alcohol_?!"

"Why not?" Mr. Lucky replied, beaming. "I say we've earned it."

The contents of the crate were rather impressive: beers, wines, whiskeys, brandies, and rums from all over the galaxy. Some of the bottles were cheap stuff, but most of the goods were on the pricy side.

Mr. Lucky reached in and picked out a large purple bottle of wine. "Everyone, go ahead and take something. We've _definitely_ earned it."

One by one, everyone picked out a bottle of the drink of his or her choice. Mr. Lucky raised his in a sort of informal toast. "To a successful mission!"

Everyone murmured or shouted out some sort of salute in his or her native tongue, and then they collectively drank. Lunchtray and Mr. Lucky eagerly gulped down their wine bottles, while Murderess, Fishface, and Shorty gingerly sipped at the weak bottles of beer in hand. Everyone else drank fairly casually.

After a few minutes everyone felt relaxed. Everyone except Brainiac, of course. He put down his bottle of Ebla beer, stood, and cleared his throat.

"Before we all get hopelessly drunk, there's something I'd like to say on behalf of our newest comrade, Darkness." Brainiac turned towards Darkness nodded, and raised his bottle. "I propose a toast-a toast for our most crafty and talented member, one who is unrivaled in combat, infiltration, and technical skill. To Darkness!"

"To Darkness!"

Brainiac extended his hand. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you, comrade."

Darkness grinned and took Brainiac's hand. "Apology accepted, Brain-"

Without warning, Brainiac whipped out his pistol with his other hand. In mere nanoseconds, Darkness disarmed Brainiac with a slap, twisted his wrist, and knocked him to the floor. Everyone gasped, especially Mr. Lucky.

"Brainiac? What the KRIFF?!"

Brainiac smirked while still flinching in pain and rubbing his wrist. "You wanted evidence of Darkness being a rat? Ask yourself this: how was he able to react so quickly?"

Darkness chuckled. "Simple: I'm a cyborg. I've got enhanced reflexes and my arms are faster than any organic limb. What's that supposed to prove?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe _that you clearly have military training?_ "

"Once again," said Darkness, "cyborg."

"Plus," Murderess added, "he's a Mandalorian. It's natural that he's a master of basic unarmed combat techniques."

"'Cyborg,' huh? 'Mandalorian,' huh?" Braiac asked as he got to his feet and pointed. "Take a good look at his posture. What do you see?"

Everyone looked at Darkness more closely. Immediately after disarming Brainac, he had assumed a sort of fighting position, low to the ground and with hands ready to strike.

"Now, _comrade_ ," Brainiac pointedly asked, crossing his arms, "where exactly did you learn Echani martial arts, given that, last time I checked, they're mostly taught to special forces?"

"Echani? How do you know?" asked Murderess.

"I used to be partners with an Echani mercenary," Brainiac clarified. "She never taught me her fighting techniques, but I learned to identify the basic positions."

At this point, Darkness slowly straightened up, still showing no signs of worry. "That's the difference between you and me Brainiac-I actually learned some Echani techniques when _I_ partnered with an Echani mercenary."

Brainiac shook his head. "Sorry, but that excuse won't fly. There's also the little matter of you knowing a secret Imperial clearance code that you used on your last heist using that code cylinder in your pocket. A code that I ran by an Imperial defector here in the Raxus system."

Darkness began to turn pale.

"According to that defector, that code is recognized all over the military, but is only ever used by a certain elite regiment, a regiment so elite, he refused to tell me any more and ran away."

"So let's review, everyone: our new pal Darkness has military training, specific military training reserved for special forces, knowledge of the secret codes of elite Imperial regiments, carries an Imperial code cylinder with said secret codes, is not afraid of Imperial stormtroopers, has a proclivity for doing dangerous things, and is fond of breaking extra laws that might draw attention. What does this mean?"

There was a pause.

"It means," Brainiac answered himself, "that Darkness is an elite Imperial soldier. Best case scenario, he's an Imperial Navy commando. Worst case scenario, he's an Imperial Guard. My personal theory is that he's a stormtrooper, most likely specialized in some way."

He turned to Darkness. "I'm right, aren't I, _comrade_? You're a stormtrooper sent by the Imps to capture us dead or alive, aren't you?"

Darkness didn't initially answer. Instead, he sat down, picked up the bottle of Tarisian ale he had been previously drinking and took a long swig. Finally, he addressed Brainiac: "I'm disappointed, Brainiac. You had a week to think this over, and you only got one out of three right."

"Let me make things clear: I _haven't_ been sent here by the Empire and I'm _not_ here to arrest or hurt you." Darkness took another swig of ale. "However, I won't deny the fact that I have a past in the Imperial Military."

The mood in the room palpably became tenser. Fishface reached for a sonic rifle she had recently purchased, while Shorty took several visible steps away from his friend. Most shocked of all was Brainiac, who hadn't been expecting such a casual confession. "Y-you admit it? You're an Imp?"

Darkness sighed and finally put down his ale. "It's a complicated story that begins a long time ago, on a planet far, far, away…"


End file.
